


A Very Edgy Supernatural Birthday

by spectaculacularsammy



Series: Not Unless Sam Says [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Birthday Smut, Birthday Spanking, Dean calls you 'kitten', Dean likes to give spankings, Dom Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, F/M, Face-Fucking, He's a willing participant lol, I don't really know what to consider Dean in this fic yet, Multi, No Wincest, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Play, Rough Oral Sex, Sam Winchester/You/Dean Winchester - Freeform, The usual:, Threesome, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, You were a bad little girl, dom!Dean, gets kind of feelsy at the end but appropriately so, no sexual brother touching - that's all I can promise you, sort of, sub you, that's kind of a lie, you get to give Sam a shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was my birthday last week. I know that makes this late, but it's my birthday, and I'll post late if I want to.  So, come one, come all to my very own birthday edition of Not Unless Sam Says. </p><p>This will be a mini-smut-series (within a series lol) and it's long, so a very merry un-birthday to the rest of you.</p><p>Also, you don't <i>have to</i> have read the first five parts of this series, but it'll help tie the relationships together and make the dynamic make more sense. Plus, it's just fun. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naughty Little Birthday Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the word 'sascock' from lady_ataralasse. She came up with the word for Shennagians and Blarney, I was just there for the conversation. All the sascocky credit goes to her.

You’re in the shower with shampoo in your hair, body covered with soap, when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“______?” Sam’s voice calls your name, and it echoes off of the high walls of the bunker’s bathroom. “Can I come in?”

“Yup.” You peek your head out from behind the shower curtain. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s good.” Sam starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Just came in to see if you wanted some company.”

You stand in the shower and watch him shed his shirts, take off his watch, then start on his belt and jeans. “I suppose I can make room for one more,” you answer coyly.

Sam chuckles, while he kicks aside his boxer-briefs and steps in the shower with you. He wipes away a trail of bubbles that look like they might drip into your eyes and kisses you softly. “Were you planning on saving any hot water for the rest of us?”

You shrug and smile playfully up at Sam. “I was _trying_ to make it quick, but now that you’re in here, I doubt that’s going to happen.”

Returning your playful smile, Sam takes a step closer to you, pulling you tightly against him, and you can feel his hardening cock press into your skin. When you try to look down, Sam tips your head back into the shower’s hot stream of water and starts to rinse the shampoo from your hair. His hands thread through your soapy, wet hair and massage your scalp, coaxing out the bubbles. As his fingers work in your hair, Sam bends down so he can kiss your neck, and you moan softly.

Feeling Sam’s fingers in your hair and the one tiny kiss on your skin, along with the increasingly hard length pressing into you, your knees wobble just a little bit, so you wrap your hands around Sam’s hips. Your little touch in the hot and steamy shower brings a quiet groan from Sam, but he keeps rinsing the soap from your hair.

Once all the shampoo is rinsed clean, Sam plants a gentle kiss on your lips and turns you around, so your back is to him. He works a palm full of conditioner into your hair, then trails his slippery hands over your shoulders and down your arms. When he reaches your fingertips, you’re practically panting. He takes your hands in his, lifts them up, and puts them behind his head. You wind your fingers into his hair and whimper quietly as his fingers trail down the underside of your arms and cup your breasts.

“Saaam,” you whine his name when his thumbs lightly brush over your nipples.

“Shhh,” he whispers in your ear and kisses the wet skin below it. “Did you think I forgot what today is?”

You groan, but not from his touch. You groan because you were hoping he’d forgotten your further advancement into ‘thirty-something’ status. “I was kind of hoping you did.”

Sam chuckles just a little bit. “Well, I didn’t; I don’t forget much.”

“I’m aware,” you answer with a laugh and give Sam’s wet hair a tug.

He groans and gives both of your nipples a good tweak, causing you to gasp and push yourself back into Sam. You can feel he’s now _completely_ hard, and his shaft rubs between the slippery skin of your ass cheeks.

“Since it’s you’re birthday, I have a _few things_ planned.”

The grittiness of Sam’s voice pretty much tells you _exactly_ what’s he’s got planned, but you still ask, “Oh, yeah? And what are these _things_ you’ve planned.”

“Well…” One of Sam’s hands leaves your breast and trails down between your legs to rub at your clit. You gasp and can _feel_ the deep, rumbling groan in Sam's chest. “Since it is _your_ birthday, I asked Dean to help me out… If _you_ want. After all, it’s _your_ birthday.”

With Sam’s fingers between your legs, swirling around and teasing your clit, all you’re able to muster is a weak nod of your head and a little moan.

Reaching further back, Sam circles your entrance with the tips of his fingers and whispers in your ear, “I need to hear your answer _out loud_ , little girl.”

After licking your lips and swallowing, you do as you’re told. “Yes, Sam.”

He circles your slick opening a couple more times, but never dips his fingers inside. “Very good, little girl. What else do I need to hear you say out loud?”

“Impala,” you moan the word, and as soon as you do, Sam slides two fingers inside of you.

“There’s _my_ good little birthday girl.”

Still fucking you slowly with his fingers, Sam rolls and pulls on your nipple with his other hand and kisses up and down your neck. The hot water from the shower sprays on the two of you, drenching Sam’s hair and making it cling to your face and neck, mixing with your wet hair. After a little while, Sam takes his hand away from your breast and brings it to your chin, turning your face back to him, so he can kiss you. Once his mouth is attached to yours, teasing your tongue and drawing little moans from your throat, his hand roams down to your breast, gives your nipple a firm tweak, and trails down your stomach, ending between your legs.

When his fingertips of one hand circle around your clit, the fingers inside you immediately rub against your g-spot, and you cry out into Sam’s mouth, pulling on his hair a little bit. He groans deeply into your kisses, but doesn’t let your mouth go. His lips stay locked with yours, while his fingers work in tandem on your g-spot and clit, bringing that warmness in your core closer and closer to the surface, but like he always does, Sam stops just before the heat erupts.

You whine and squirm against Sam as he cups your pussy in his hands, rubbing your soft skin with his fingers. “The water’s going to get cold, little girl,” he tells you, even though the bunker seems to have a near endless supply of hot water and reaches up with his hands to unwind your fingers from his hair. “You still have to rinse out your hair, and I need to wash up.” Holding you by your waist, Sam turns you back around, so your hair is under the warm water. “Be a good girl and rinse out your hair.”

Still panting from your abruptly – but expected – denied orgasm, you bring your shaky hands up and work out the conditioner, and Sam presses himself closer to you. Holding onto your hips tightly, he pushes his flushed and solid cock between your thighs and against the water-slick lips of your pussy. The slight pressure against your clit causes your knees to wobble, and you reach forward and grab onto Sam’s shoulders

“Little girl,” Sam warns, “I got you, and I told you to rinse out your hair. If there isn’t any hot water left for me, you’re going to be in trouble.”

“Sorry, Sam.” You take your hands from his shoulders and bring them back to your hair.

Once you start rinsing your hair again, Sam resumes slowly fucking himself between your thighs, breathing deeply at the watery friction. He tilts your hips a little bit, so he slides between the slick lips of your pussy, every once in a while grazing your clit. It’s not enough to make you come – Sam knows this, but it still holds you right on the edge, teasing you and making you ache.

“I’m done, Sam,” you murmur a minute later, when your hair is _finally_ clean.

Pulling himself free from between your legs, making sure to brush up against your clit on the exit, Sam tests your hair with his fingers, tugging playfully while he checks.

“Very good, little girl.” He turns you around and presses you back against the far shower wall, so _his_ back is in the water, which is still warm. “I want you to stand here, and be a good girl while I wash up. I think I’ll put this hand here…” He brings your left hand up to your breast and places your thumb and pointer finger on either side of your nipple, pinching your fingers for you. “And maybe _this_ hand…” Sam takes your right hand in his and slides it down your body, ending between your legs. He eases one of your fingers into your folds and rubs it against your clit, then he takes a step back to look at you. “So beautiful, little girl,” Sam groans, taking himself in his hand and giving his cock just one slow pump. “You just stand there and edge like a good girl, while I take a quick shower. Don’t come, and don’t take your eyes off of me. You can slow down if it’s too much, but don’t stop.”

“Yes, Sam,” you answer obediently and lean your head back against the shower wall.

As you pinch and roll your nipple between your fingers and rub your swollen and achy clit, Sam keeps his eyes locked on yours, while he washes and rinses his hair. The musky scent of his shampoo fills the shower, and it’s intoxicating.

“You’re doing _so_ good, little girl,” Sam groans as he takes the bar of soap in his hand and slowly washes up and down his arms. When he lathers up his chest, his fingers linger on his nipples, and you watch him, moaning and panting helplessly, hypnotized by the way he’s touching himself. It’s when his soapy hands roam down his stomach, then wrap around his cock and cup his balls that you have to slow down because you’re _so close_ to coming.

Seeing the insides of your thighs shake and your breaths coming in faster, Sam can tell how close you are. “Almost done, little girl.” He gives his rigid cock, arced beautifully against the trail of wet and soapy, dark hairs on his stomach, a few tight strokes. You groan at the sight, and he groans at the feeling. Sam surprises you when he asks, “Since it is _my_ little girl’s birthday, she wouldn’t want to finish up for me, would she?”

You nod your head, but don’t take your hands away from your body because Sam didn’t say. “Please, Sam. Let me finish. Let me touch you.”

“Be a good girl and edge for me just one more time, and then you can wash me up.”

“Thank you, Sam,” you manage to moan out while swirling your fingers over your clit and tweaking your nipple hard and fast, so you can do what Sam asked of you more quickly.

“You’re welcome, little girl.”

Sam watches you, and he can see the exact moment when you _almost_ come. The second your fingers dutifully slow down, he reaches forward, gently pulls your hand from your folds, and brings it up to his lips. He sighs deeply when he licks your slick from your fingers, then puts the bar of soap in your hands.

“Finish washing me up… _Only_ wash what I haven’t.” Sam pulls you tight to him and kisses you deeply. “And then I’ll tell you a little bit about what I have planned for your birthday.”

He kisses you one more time, and you rub the bar of soap between your hands. Once a thick lather covers your palms and fingertips, you take a shaky step backward from Sam. “Can I wash your back, please, Sam?”

Giving you a sexy grin that makes your knees a little weak, Sam answers, “Good manners, little girl. Of course you can.” He turns around, showing you his gloriously beautiful posterior.

You choose his lower neck as your place to start, spreading the thick, and white soap bubbles up and down his skin, rubbing your fingertips into his muscles. After his left shoulder is covered with the rich lather, you continue to the right side and work your way down his ribs and spine. A deep, “Mmmm,” comes from Sam when your thumbs work into the firm muscle of his lower back. You’re more massaging than washing, but since Sam seems to enjoy it, you continue until he shifts in the shower’s stream of water, letting it rinse away the suds.

After working up another handful of bubbles, you put the bar of soap away and bring your hands to the spectacularly, marvelous location that is Sam’s ass. As soon as you touch the round, firm muscles, Sam groans heavily and brings his hands up to brace himself against the shower wall. You cover both globes with the lather, the white bubbles stark in comparison to the dark tan of Sam’s skin. When his left foot takes a step to the side, spreading his strong thighs apart, you take the wordless invitation and wash further down the under-curve of his ass, paying special attention to the space behind his balls.

“Keep going, little girl,” Sam groans in a tight and husky voice, so you draw your soapy fingers up, trace the crack of his ass until you find the tight, little hole nestled inside.

Circling the rim with the pad of your finger, you lean forward and kiss the center of Sam’s back, smelling his clean soap and feeling his muscles flex under your lips. As your finger moves up and around the furled opening, your other hand glides, still slick with soap, over Sam’s hip to trace the crease of his thigh.

Taking one hand from the shower wall, Sam threads his fingers inside yours and wraps both yours and his hand around his cock, keeping the stroke loose and slow. As Sam lets out all kinds of gravelly sounds from deep within his chest, his hole loosens under your gentle finger, and you’re able to slide your fingertip inside.

“Fuck!” Sam shouts, wrapping your linked hands tightly around the base of his flushed and throbbing cock.

When he doesn’t tell you to stop, you slowly work your fingertip in and out of Sam, the soap slicking the way, until your whole finger is inside him. Panting heavily against Sam’s back, incredibly turned on by what he’s allowing you to do, you very gently, curve your finger until you reach his prostate. Sam whines and starts to move your hand up and down his thick, hot length, and you continue to rub the bundle of nerves with your fingertip.

You can feel him throb in your hand, momentarily feel the hot blurts of precome that leak from his tip before the water from the shower washes them away, and just when you think Sam’s going to come, he pulls your hand away and shifts in the shower. The water streams down his back, and you use it to rinse away soap from inside him, being careful to avoid touching his prostate again.

Just as you finish rinsing him out, Sam turns around, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the deep breaths he takes, and his cock, flushed to a deep red, stands impossibly hard in front of him.

“Finish what you’re supposed to do, little girl,” Sam tells you in a deep, raspy voice handing you the bar of soap again.

He kisses you very softly, and you rub the bar of soap between your hands. Once a thick lather covers your palms and fingertips, you reach down to wash his hips and upper thighs, while kissing his chest. You wash the insides of his thighs and down to his knees, going slow to let him calm down, coating his tanned skin with the white bubbles. When you reach as far down his legs as you can, you slowly sink down to your knees on the bottom of the tub and continue bathing Sam. His cock jumps when your fingers barely touch the underside of his ass, and you look up at him with eyes _begging_ to let you touch him.

Sam touches your wet hair and caresses the side of your face, telling you again, “Finish what you’re supposed to do, little girl, and then you can.”

Where the bubbles have been washed away, you kiss Sam’s hipbone in thanks and nod your head. “Yes, Sam.”

With careful fingers, you take your time, washing down Sam’s calves, and he lifts each of his feet, one at a time, so you can wash them, chuckling a little bit when you wash between his toes. After setting the bar of soap on the side of the tub, you run your hands up Sam’s thighs, but stop at his hips and look up at him for permission.

“Go ahead, little girl, but you have to stop when I say and just use your hands.” You give Sam a little pout, and he chuckles while running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Does _my_ birthday girl _really_ want to suck my cock?”

Stroking your fingers up and down Sam’s thighs, you answer, “Yes, Sam. Please. Please let me. I want to _so bad_.”

“I fucking love it when you beg for my cock, little girl,” he groans as he slides three fingers into your mouth, stretching your lips wide. “If you want to use your mouth, you have to fuck yourself with your fingers while you do it. Can you do that for me? Can you do that _and_ be a good girl _and_ not come _and_ suck my cock?”

Sam takes his fingers out of your mouth, and you pant. “I’ll be good, Sam. Just…please, I want you in my mouth, Sam. Please.”

“I know you will. Go ahead; fill yourself up…” Sam takes himself in his hand and rubs the warm, slick head against your lips. “Then, I’ll let you suck my big cock.”

Just like Sam said, you take one of your hands off of his hip, rinsed clean from the water, and slide your fingers inside your dripping pussy, gasping at the fullness you feel and moaning at the slick stretch. The heel of your hand presses into your clit, and just as your mouth falls open, Sam slides his cock, hard and full, between your lips, resting heavy on your tongue.

One of Sam’s hands winds its fingers into the back of your hair. “You fuck that teased little pussy, and I’ll fuck your mouth. Don’t you dare come, and I’ll tell you when to stop, little girl.” He puts his other hand over yours, still resting on his hip. “If it’s too much, just tap my hip three times, and I’ll stop.”

You look at Sam from the bottom of the tub and nod your head. He grins and slides his cock further into your mouth, so the swollen head presses against the back of your throat. You moan around his cock as best as you can, while your fingers push in and out of your drenched entrance. Sam groans appreciatively, pulling his length from your mouth and smearing your own saliva around your lips. Still working your fingers in and out of yourself, trying like hell to avoid your g-spot, Sam pushes himself back into your mouth. This time he pushes past the back of your mouth and down your throat. When you gag, Sam tries to pull back out, but your hand stays firm on his hip, urging him to continue what he’s doing.

“Holy shit,” Sam gasps when he looks down at you, gagging for his cock deeper in your throat. He’s watching you fuck yourself with your eyes squeezed shut and swallowing as best you can around him. When he pulls himself almost completely out of your mouth, just leaves the tip resting against your tongue, he asks, “Does my little girl want more?”

“Uh huh,” you moan around his cock, still moving your fingers inside yourself.

Pushing himself back between your lips, Sam lazily fucks your mouth, holding your wet hair tightly in his hand. He groans when your tongue curls around the head, and when your mouth keeps the suction tight. With a little tug of your hair, your eyes open up and look at Sam. “Do you still want more?”

You nod your head and encouragingly stroke the tip of your tongue through the slit of Sam’s cock.

He groans. “Is it too much? Are you going to come?”

With your eyes wide, you shake your head ‘no’ and try to lean forward to take more of Sam in your mouth.

His hand is still firmly threaded through your hair, and he pulls it to take your mouth completely off of his dick. “Do you _want_ to come?”

Trying to catch your breath, you answer, “No, Sam. You didn’t say.”

Sam grins and pets the back of your head with his thumb. “It’s your birthday, little girl; make yourself come.”

“No, Sam.” The second the words come out of your mouth, you realize what you just did: you told Sam ‘no’. “P-please,” you stutter, suddenly nervous. “Don’t make me.”

For a second, Sam ignores the fact that you just disobeyed him, and asks, “You don’t _want_ to come? And why is that, little girl?”

Sam’s voice is dark and full of warning with a little annoyance. You know you just told him ‘no,’ which is something you’re _not supposed to do_ when he gives you a direct instruction.

“Wanna wait, Sam. Please,” you beg. He cocks an eyebrow at you and purses his lips, looking absolutely _enormous_ from your kneeling place in the bottom of the shower. You can feel his fingers tightening in your hair, so you add, “I like it when you tease me and make me wait. I know I didn’t listen, and I know what happens when I’m not a good girl. I’m sorry, Sam. I just… I just wanted to wait because you make me come _so much better_.”

“I see,” Sam answers in a dark voice.

“Sam, I’m sor --”

“Naughty girls don’t get to talk,” he interrupts harshly. You snap your mouth shut and look down at the tub.

Reaching behind himself, Sam shuts off the rapidly cooling water. You shiver, but it’s not from the cool air.

“You’ve been down there a while, _my_ naughty little girl. Do your knees hurt?”

They do, but they’re not nearly as painful as how you feel from disobeying Sam. “No, Sam,” you answer in a whisper, still staring at the bottom of the tub.

“Are you cold?”

“No, Sam.”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes immediately meet Sam’s.

“Hands on your thighs, little girl.”

You obey.

“You say you like to be teased? That you _want_ me to tease you? Oh, I will, little girl. It’s only about 9 AM, and your birthday _technically_ isn’t until when?”

“6:34…” You pause when you realize where Sam is going with this. “6:34 _PM_ , Sam.”

“You _want_ to be teased, little girl?” Sam chuckles darkly. “You will be…for the next _nine and a half_ hours, and if you don’t do _exactly_ as I say in those _nine and half_ hours, you _will not_ come. Do you understand me, little girl?”

Cursing yourself for not listening, you unconsciously look back down at the tub and whisper a barely audible, “Yes, Sam.”

He pulls on your hair, so you’re forced to look back up at him. “What was that?”

You clear your throat. “Yes, Sam. I’ll do exactly as you say.”

“I _know_ you will. Open that naughty mouth.”

As soon as you obey, Sam slides his cock between your lips and finds his previous place at the back of your mouth.

“You know what to do if it’s too much, don’t you, little girl?”

You nod your head and reach up to tap Sam’s thigh three times, but you don’t leave your hand there, you bring it back down to your thigh, having no plans to ‘tap out.’

“Good girl,” Sam praises you, but his words don’t match his tone. “I want you to stay still; I’ll move that naughty mouth however I want it.” Only looking up at Sam as your answer, he firmly pats the side of your face a couple of times. “Very good.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Sam finds a punishing pace. He fucks your mouth and holds your head still, while you simply take it, gripping your thighs with your hands. The head of his cock only brushes against the back of your throat for a few minutes, and you can feel him throb against your tongue when your tongue curls around his shaft.

“Keep that suction tight, little girl, or this is going to last a whole lot longer,” Sam warns as he works himself in and out of your mouth.

After a minute, his thrusts slow down when he pushes deeper into your throat. This may be a punishment, and Sam may be annoyed that you disobeyed him, but he’s _never_ cruel; you know his slower thrusts are a silent warning of what’s to come.

You try to stifle a gag, but fail, when Sam presses himself down your throat, holding your face tightly to his groin with his hand. Once he’s as far as he can go, his hips still, and he moves your head by the handful of hair he’s got gripped tightly in his hand. You continue to gag at the intrusion, eyes watering, lungs screaming for a breath of oxygen, but you keep your hands clenched firmly to your thighs, taking your punishment.

Sam sees this and pulls himself out of your throat, mercifully allowing you to take a few breaths through your nose, but then goes right back to fucking your throat with his cock. Once more, he holds your face tightly to him, groaning deeply when you swallow around the inches shoved down your throat. His cock feels _huge_ in your mouth and in your throat, huger than it usually feels, stretching your jaw, depriving you of precious oxygen, and forcing more tears from your eyes as you continue to gag.

For a second, you think you can’t possibly stand the strain on your jaw and lack of oxygen another second, so your hand flies up to Sam’s hip. Before you can tap, Sam starts to moan even louder, and his grip on your hair changes to an almost gentle touch. You know Sam’s very close to coming, so you trust that he knows what you can handle and let go.

Two seconds later, Sam pulls his cock out of your throat, and you can feel his hot come shooting hard against the back of your mouth. You try to swallow it down, but your throat is ragged from Sam’s cock. His come ends up dribbling out of the corner your mouth with the excess, thick saliva, mixing with the tears streaming off your face. When you try to whimper an apology, you end up hiccupping and coughing, while trying to gasp for air. Seeing all of this, Sam gently lifts you up from the bottom of the tub. After he steps out of the shower, he wraps you in a towel, and then sets you on the counter top.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, his dark Dom-tone and persona gone and replaced with a gentle and soothing voice. He uses a damp wash cloth to wipe his come and your saliva from your chin, tossing it into the tub when he’s done and using the corner of your towel to wipe your eyes. “I’m sorry, _____. I didn’t mean… Did I hurt you?” When you shake your head ‘no,’ he pulls you to his chest and rubs your back. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

For a second, Sam’s worried that he went too far. At the end, he felt your hand come up and grip his thigh tightly, but he knows you didn’t tap, or he would have stopped. He can feel your skin is freezing and see that your knees are an angry shade of red, but his worrying melts away a little bit when you reach up and touch his face.

“M’not crying, Sam. I’m okay. My eyes are just watering from --” You’re forced to stop talking when you’re overcome by the urge to cough again. You cough so hard that more tears spill from your eyes.

Unable to find a drinking glass in the medicine cabinet, Sam turns on the faucet on the sink and cups his hand to collect the water. “Here.” He brings his cupped hand to your lips. You drink it down, and he asks, “Do you need more?” You shake your head ‘no,’ but he brings you three more palms full of water, insisting that you drink.

After Sam dries you off, he dresses you in his plaid shirt, then dries himself off and pulls on only his jeans. Once he’s done, he has you sit with your legs crossed on the countertop, with your back to him, while he takes his time combing your hair. “I don’t think we should do… _this_ today.”

Your eyes jump up and meet his in the mirror. “Because I didn’t… I didn’t listen?” Your voice is raspy, rough, and filled with shame.

Sam internally winces at the sound of your ragged voice. He stops combing your hair and looks at your reflection. “No, that’s not why.” He kisses the top of your head, wraps his arms around you, and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I just think _that_ might have been too much.” His fingertips gently rub up and down your neck, over your throat, with a painfully remorseful look in his eyes.

In the reflection of the mirror, you can see the look on Sam’s face. You spin yourself around on the countertop, so you can look at him and take his face in your hands. “It wasn’t, but _if_ it was, I would have told you.” You smirk a little bit when you think about what you just said. “Well, maybe not _told you_ , since you were…you know… _occupying my mouth_.”

Sam rolls his eyes and gives you an only slightly-humored smirk for how you phrased what he did to you.

“I know what I’m supposed to do if it’s too much, and honestly, the second that it was getting there, you were done. I swear, I’m fine. I’m actually interested to see what you have planned for my birthday.” You still can see the skeptical look on Sam’s face. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine, but --” Your words are cut off by you coughing again.

“See?” Sam gets another palm full of water and makes you drink it.

“ _But_ ,” you start again after clearing your throat, thankful that your voice is resembling normal. “As long as your plans don’t include your _sascock_ down my throat for a little while, I _will be_ fine, and if at any point, _you_ think it’s too much for me, or even for you, _you_ can always call safeword too, you know.”

“Are you sure?”

You give Sam a pretend-exasperated sigh. “I’m sure.”

Sam considers the things you just said, then smirks. “ _Sascock_?”

You laugh. “Sasquatch? Cock?”

Chucking, Sam asks, “Who the hell thought of that?”

“Someone _super_ cool.”

“I see. Well, you should tell her that she’s got a creatively dirty, little mind.”

You reach up and kiss Sam. “I’ll see to it that she gets the message.”

“You do that.”

Sam bends down to return your kisses, and his tongue is gentle when it rubs against yours. After a minute of his mouth fused to yours, Sam pulls away and takes your face in his hands. “One more time, are you _sure_? Because if you’re not, we can just go back to the bedroom and have good, old-fashioned birthday sex – no games.”

You grin up at Sam, turning your face so you can kiss the palm of his hand. “Now, I’m definitely _sure_ , because that doesn’t sound like _any fun_ to me,” you answer sarcastically even though you _know_ that would be amazing.

Sam gives you a sideways smirk and shakes his head, playfully. “I’ll remember that.” He checks his watch and shows it to you: 9:54am. “Your birthday is still over eight hours away, and I meant what I said before. Are you _sure_ this is what you want?”

Though eight hours is a _very_ long time to be teased and tortured, you know it’ll be _well worth_ the wait, so you run your fingers through the dark hairs trailing down his naked stomach and lean back against the mirror behind you. “Yes, Sam.”

“Well, then I guess that means I should pay some special attention to _my_ birthday girl, huh?” He carefully lifts your legs up onto the countertop and puts your feet on the edge, spreading your legs wide and kissing the fading redness on your knees.

After he unbuttons the bottom few buttons of his shirt he dressed you in and moves it out of the way, his fingers trace the creases of where your thighs meet your body.

You whimper and feel the amount of dampness that’s already between your legs increase just by Sam’s touch. “Please, Sam.”

“I want you to say _it_ again.”

“Impala. Sam, I swear I’ll say it if anything is too much.”

Sam’s dark grin is back, and he drags one finger up your dripping slit. “Good girls _always_ do.”

While Sam continues to tease the lips of your pussy, never parting them and never touching your clit, he finally tells you part of his plan, claiming most of it is part of the surprise. He tells you that Dean agreed to help him out since it’s a special occasion – your birthday – and that if it’s okay with you, he plans on telling Dean he has permission to do anything he wants to you, with the exception of making you come, because only Sam gets to do that. Sam goes on to say that you’re to obey Dean as if his instructions are coming straight from Sam, and he promises at the end of the day, _if_ you're good, they’ll _both_ take care of you.

You trust Sam with everything, who trusts Dean, and _you_ trust Dean, so of course, your answer is the ever-obedient, “Yes, Sam.”

It’s only when you answer him, does Sam gently part your folds and starts to draw soft, little lines up and down your clit with his pointer finger. As he does this, he explains that because there is over _eight_ hours left until your actual birthday and because you disobeyed, he has to draw this out. He takes his finger away and eases it, along with his middle finger, inside your sopping pussy and rubs your clit with his thumb. His hand moves slow because he continues to tell you that things will be a little bit different than he originally planned, because he doesn’t want it to be too much for you.

You’re moaning too hard to object or insist that you’re fine, which was Sam’s plan all along.

Once the abridged version of Sam’s game plan is laid out for you, it’s Sam’s turn to get on his knees, and he does it on the floor in front of where you’re spread wide open to him on the countertop. Adding a third finger inside you, Sam trades his thumb on your clit for his mouth, and as he slowly fingers you open, the tip of his tongue teases you right to the brink of orgasm, then stops.

The insides of your thighs twitch when Sam licks you clean, and he kisses up the buttons of your shirt, all the way to your ear. “And I forgot to tell you…” He cups your pussy lightly with his hand. “You’re thirty-two years old today. I _was_ going to give you _all_ thirty-two birthday spankings at once and let you walk around here with your ass on fire all day, but I think I’ve changed my mind. Sixteen for me, and sixteen for Dean. _You_ have to keep track, or we’ll start over.”

Prompting you to answer, he pats your mound, the vibrations making you to moan, but of course you answer, “Yes, Sam.”

“There’s _my_ good girl.” Sam kisses you softly and helps you up off the countertop. He stoops down to close the buttons he opened earlier, so his shirt hangs well passed your knees. “I was also going to tell you to go get dressed, but I think _this_ ,” he straightens the collar of your – _his_ – shirt, “will make things easier.” His fingers trail down and slide once over your throbbing clit to prove his point. “Easier access.”

Through a moan, you’re able to give Sam a playful, little scoff, and he spins you around to swat your ass. You smirk and ask, “Does that count as one, Sam?”

Sam laughs and swats your ass again. “Definitely not, little girl. Go find some breakfast. I have to go talk to Dean. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in an hour.”

After you answer, “Yes, Sam,” he shoos you off toward the kitchen, while he goes off to find Dean.

For the first few steps down the hallway, your legs wobble and feel weak, but once the needy ache between your legs starts to dull, you find your footing.

Once in the kitchen, you find there’s a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you. At the first sip, you smile; either Sam or Dean put cinnamon in with the grounds, which is your favorite.

Sipping on your cup of coffee, you dig in the fridge for some breakfast, finding exactly what you’re looking for on the bottom shelf. When you squat down to retrieve it, the cool air from the fridge wafts against your bare center, reminding you of your nakedness and giving you a rush of heat in your core. You stand up, arms full of breakfast fixings, groaning miserably at how you’re barely fifteen minutes in, and you’re already incredibly needy.

After fixing your breakfast, you sit down at the little table in the kitchen and not at the big tables where the three of you typically eat meals, simply because _this_ is where Sam told you to be. It’s a process to keep Sam’s shirt far enough down your butt when you sit down, so the chair’s cold metal doesn’t touch your skin. In the end, your drape a hand towel over the seat, so you can eat your breakfast without getting frostbite. There’s a newspaper sitting on the table – it’s a week old, but it mostly distracts you from what you _really want_ , long enough for you to finish your breakfast and two cups of coffee without fidgeting too much.

Completely silent, Sam walks into the kitchen ten minutes before he makes himself known to you. He just stands quietly in the doorway and watches you sip your coffee and pick at your breakfast, shifting your hips and thighs and straightening the hand towel underneath you. He wonders to himself if you’re sitting on the towel because the metal chairs are usually cold or if you’re still incredibly wet. If the reason isn’t the latter, Sam decides he’ll make it the reason.

After you drain your second cup of coffee, Sam walks, without a sound, until he’s standing right behind your chair. He waits for you to swallow the coffee that’s in your mouth, so you don’t choke if he startles you, and whispers in your ear, “Did you have a good breakfast, little girl?”

Just like he thought you would, you jump at his sudden closeness, but you answer him, “Yes, Sam. Are you hungry?”

“Nope,” he groans in your ear. “I _ate_ earlier.”

Reaching down in front of you, Sam pops open a couple button on your shirt and runs his fingers over your nipples. Once you start moaning, he stops and takes your hands in his. You stand up from the chair and follow Sam when he leads you over to the nearest stainless steel countertop. When you’re there, his hands pull you close to him and trail down your back to your ass, gripping it tightly in his hands. He kisses you once, teasing your tongue into his mouth, then pulls away, grinning at the way you’re already panting.

“Turn around, little girl.”

You do, and Sam pushes gently on the middle of your back, silently telling you to bend over the counter. You gasp softly at the coolness of the metal surface on your bare skin where Sam opened the buttons of your shirt, but quickly forget about that when his hand lifts up the bottom of your shirt and bares your ass and lower back to him. For a second, you think the aforementioned birthday spankings are going to take place, but to your surprise, his hand just rubs over your naked skin.

After taking the time to caress each side of your ass, Sam nudges your feet apart with his foot and moves his hand downward, so he can slide a finger into your folds. When his fingertip touches your clit, you practically melt into the countertop.

“You’re still pretty wet, little girl, but not wet enough. Should I do something about that?”

Even though you know there’s _no way_ Sam’s going to let you come, you still nod and rest your head on top of your crossed arms. “Please, Sam.”

He kisses down the naked part of your back and whispers darkly into the base of your spine, “Anything for _my_ birthday girl. Well… _just_ _about_ _anything_.”

You sob into your arms when three of Sam’s fingers push into your pussy and slowly move them in and out. He alternates between stretching you open with his fingers and rubbing your clit, but it doesn’t matter because it only takes a little bit of time for you to want more than anything to come.

Sam can tell you’re close: you’re shifting from foot to foot in front of him, standing up on your tiptoes and then back flat on your feet. He can feel you clenching around his fingers, but then he can tell when you realize what you’re doing, because you try to relax and focus on your breathing. You’re not to the point where you’re murmuring monsters in alphabetical order to distract yourself, but Sam knows you’re well on your way.

Sam gives your clit a break and slides his fingers back into your dripping opening. “See, I remember _my_ little girl saying she _liked_ to be teased, that she _liked_ for me to make her wait. Am I remembering that correctly?”

After trying to catch your breath enough to answer him, you pant out a, “Yes, Sam.”

“I guess that’s a good thing, because that’s _exactly_ what I’m going to do.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he spanks your ass four times in rapid succession. When the first one comes unexpectedly, you cry out, feeling yourself gush and clench around Sam’s fingers. Moaning and wincing at the next three, your upper body slides against the countertop from the force of Sam’s open hand.

Once the first four spankings are delivered, he continues to slide his fingers in and out of you, while he rubs over the warmed skin of your ass.

“Is _my_ good birthday girl keeping track of her spankings?”

You whimper when he grabs a palm full of your stinging ass. “Yes, Sam. That was four.”

“Very good, little girl.”

For another minute, Sam works his fingers in your pussy, eventually adding a forth. The second Sam curls his fingers down and moves them against your g-spot, he feels your whole body seize up and hears your nails try to dig into the metal surface below you. Pleasure-pain overwhelms you, making your whole body start to shake as the overpowering desire to come on Sam’s hand mixes with the warm sting of your birthday spankings. You step up on your tip toes, trying to move away from his hand, right on the verge of making you come, but Sam keeps doing exactly what’s he’s doing.

“Don’t you dare come, little girl, or I’ll ruin it.”

A pitiful, little grunt mixed with Sam’s name, comes from your mouth, and he knows what you’re trying to say, mercifully letting it slide. It’s only after another thirty or so seconds pass do you start muttering, “Don’t come. Don’t come. Be good. Be good.”

Sam gently pull his fingers out of you, and the second he sees your whole body relax, he gives you your fifth birthday spanking. _SMACK_!

He hears you gasp in surprise, but then you moan, “Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” under your breath, still bent over the counter, dancing a little bit from one foot to the other.

Knowing the sudden spanking, so close to him leaving you on the edge, almost made you come and didn’t necessarily _hurt_ , Sam rubs his hand gently up and down your back. “Just breathe, little girl; it’ll pass.”

“Yes, Sam,” you answer weakly, trying to do what he said: breathe.

Sam’s surprised you’re still able to form words, but he keeps rubbing your back until your breaths fall even. When they do, he asks, “You ready to go again, little girl?”

The groan you let out is a mix of both misery and want, and you nod your head, pressing your flushed cheek into the cool countertop. “Yes, Sam.”

“Good girl.” Sam rubs his hand over the pink hand prints on your ass and groans when you breathe in sharply at his touch. After tightly gripping a palm full of your ass in his hand again, he very slowly uses his other hand to trace the slick folds of your pussy. “Still not as wet as I want,” Sam says, even though you are _very clearly_ as wet as he wants you to be. “But I can fix that for you.”

Instead of easing you into it like he did before, Sam decides to work you a little harder. His pointer finger slides between your swollen lips and quickly moves side-to-side over your clit. You immediately start moaning and squirming under his hand, still holding tightly to your ass. It takes just a few seconds to bring you right to the edge, and Sam stops. He gives you about five seconds to start to calm down, then does the same thing over again, but faster this time. He does this countless more times, varying the times that he edges you and gives you breaks, enjoying the little – and _not so_ little – sounds you make for him.

Knowing you inside and out, Sam can almost always tell the exact second when you’re going to come. When he sees that second, he makes you take it just a little bit longer, stopping just long enough for your orgasm to begin to fade, then he pushes four of his fingers into you.

You gasp at the sudden fullness and try to push back into Sam’s hand, babbling uncontrollably, “Please, Sam. Please. Please. _Please._ ”

“’Please, Sam,’ what, little girl? I know you’re not asking if you can come already…”

“No, no, no,” you whine. “Please, Sam…Do it again.”

Sam chuckles and takes his fingers out of your pussy. You were wet before, but now you’re dripping. Sam can see your wetness literally running down the insides your thighs.

“One more time, little girl, but this time I want to you to take it as long as you can. Only tell me to stop when you _absolutely_ can’t hold it anymore, then we’ll work on some more birthday spankings.”

With the exception of his hand on your ass, Sam’s not even touching you, and you still moan helplessly against the steel counter. “Yes, Sam. As long as I can.”

The second you feel Sam’s finger circle your clit, you force every muscle in your body to relax. You focus on your breathing and the cool surface below your body, letting what Sam’s doing between your legs help you drift away and let go. The wetness you feel like is gushing from you, makes the slide of Sam’s finger so smooth, and even though you’re working so hard to relax and just take it, you feel that heat in your middle start to ignite.

Sam watches your toes curl against the floor, the muscles of your thighs start to quiver again, and your fingers try to dig into the metal counter top beneath you, just looking for something to anchor you. Your eyes are squeezed shut tightly, you bite your bottom lip so hard he thinks you might draw blood, but then you let go and start to make the little whining noises that he loves.

He knows you’re already fighting it, trying to be in control of your body when you know you’re not – Sam is. He’s fully aware that he could circle your clit _just so_ , and you would come, even though you’re trying so hard not to. But he doesn’t do that. Sam loves this, and _this_ is why he plays the games with you that he does. You’re literally at his mercy, completely under his control, but you still try so fucking hard. Sure, Sam loves the control, but he knows you love giving it to him _that much more._

Two seconds later, you’re moaning his name over and over again, and Sam knows it’s any second now. He feels his cock dripping in his jeans and wants nothing more than to slide it inside you, to fuck you until he comes, but he doesn’t.

He waits, just like always.

“SAM!” You sob his name, squirming uncontrollably and feeling yourself right at the brink. You can’t hold it anymore. “Can’t!”

Immediately, Sam stops and very carefully pulls his fingers away. He listens to you moan through your heavy breathing, whimpering and making little whining noises. Sam soothingly rubs up and down your back and ass. “You did so good, little girl. Just breathe.”

Unlike the first time, Sam waits to deliver your next round of birthday spankings. He waits until the majority of the want, tension, and need have begun to melt away. When it’s visibly obvious that this has happened, Sam gently runs his hand over your ass once more, and brings his hand down four more times.

Surprised at the sudden first sting on your ass, you cry out, arching your back and stepping up on your tiptoes. As Sam delivers the second, third, and forth spankings, you writhe against the counter, moaning incoherently about how that was the ninth spanking of your sixteen total from Sam. The residual heat for an orgasm that you never got aches in your center, mixing with the warmth blooming and throbbing on your ass. Vaguely, you can hear Sam’s gentle words, telling you that he’s done, but it’s his soft tone that comforts you. Lost in heat and warmth and Sam’s soothing timbre, you close your eyes and let it all wash over you. When you open them back up, the first thing you see is Sam.

“Hey,” Sam whispers quietly and kisses you in the middle of your forehead. He pulls a blanket tighter around you and shifts you in his lap – careful of your ass – so you’re closer to him. “You were out for a while…”

Instead of grumbling about the burning on your ass and the ache between your legs, you surrender to it – to Sam – and nuzzle your face into his chest. “Mmmm.”

“Is that a good ‘Mmmm’?”

“Mmmm.”

Sam chuckles. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

Mirroring Sam’s chuckle, you give him another, “Mmmm.” For a little while, you and Sam just sit quietly. He rubs your back and shoulders, while kissing the top of your head, and you breathe in Sam’s musky scent, letting it ground you. The light in the room is dim, and the two of you are sitting curled up in a corner that, in your sleepy haze, you don’t recognize. “Where are we?”

Soft laughter makes Sam’s chest vibrate under your cheek. “Still in the kitchen, on the floor, two feet from where we were about twenty minutes ago. Do you want to go in a bed?”

“Can’t move,” you moan, exhausted from your _multiple_ denials.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying you.”

“Tired.”

“I know, but before you fall back to sleep, I need to make sure you still want to keep going. If it’s too much, we can stop.”

“The birthday girl is _fine_ ,” you sleepily insist. “She just needs a nap.”

Carefully, Sam stands up from the floor, cradling you in his arms, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Then a nap she’ll get.”

The sway of Sam’s warm and firm body, and the quiet sounds of his footsteps down the hall, lull you back to sleep. You’re only barely awake when he lies you into a soft bed, and you realize you’re not in Sam’s bed a half-second before you fall fast asleep.

 


	2. Dean’s an Old-Fashioned Kind of Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam told you part of his game plan for your birthday, which involved Dean being given permission to do _anything_ he wants to you, with the exception of making you come. After Sam’s first part of your birthday, he brought you to bed to rest, but just before you fell asleep, you realized it wasn’t Sam’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a HUGE thank you to lady_ataralasse for taking some of her precious time and going over this with me. :)

A dull and needy ache between your legs wakes you up, and the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open is a digital alarm clock that reads 1:55 PM.

“Afternoon, birthday girl,” Dean’s rough voice greets you softly from over your shoulder on the bed. “Sammy told me if you weren’t up by two, I was supposed to find a _creative_ way to wake you up.”

“He’s mean like that,” you tease, smiling sleepily into Dean’s pillow, catching a whiff of his spicy cologne.

Very gently, Dean rolls you toward him and hands you a bottle of water with the cap already twisted off. “He also said you’re supposed to drink this.”

It’s not surprising that you’re very thirsty, so you take the bottle from Dean. After noticing that he’s fully clothed, you sit up a little and take a few drinks. “Where’s Sam?” You ask after looking at the Sam-less chair in the corner of Dean’s bedroom.

“He’s around here somewhere.”

You give Dean an odd look for his cryptic answer.

“That okay?”

You find it a little strange that Sam’s not in Dean’s room to _witness_ what’s about to take place, but you know he always has a game plan, so you nod your head and sip a little bit more water. When you’re done, Dean takes it back, puts on the cap, and sets it aside.

“Thanks,” you murmur, lying back down on the bed.

Only nodding as his reply, Dean props his head up on his hand under his bent elbow and brushes some of your sleep-snarled hair out of your face. His fingers trail down your jaw, over your bottom lip, and down your neck to the collar of Sam’s plaid shirt covering you. As he touches you, he can see your pulse quicken through the thin skin of your neck, watches your eyes flutter closed at the same time as your lips part, and notices you’re breathing heavier. His jeans already feel too tight in all the wrong places, and he silently curses the unforgiving denim fabric. He’d rip them off right now, but _he_ can’t come until your fucking birthday either.

“So, how’s the birthday game going so far?” Dean wonders, even though it’s painfully obvious, as his fingers figure-eight around each button down the front of your shirt.

“Good. Only eighty-five hours and _a million_ minutes left,” you complain, shivering at Dean’s soft touches.

“I didn’t realize four and a half hours had that many minutes, but if it helps – and I doubt it will – Sam got you some cupcakes.” Dean’s fingertips continue to roam down your stomach, but skip over the place you desperately want to be touched and rub up and down your thigh. “They’re on the fridge. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

You whine, trying to move closer to Dean’s hand, but he moves it further down your thigh. “Don’t _want_ cupcakes.”

“Sorry, birthday girl, but _I_ can’t give you what you want.” Dean kisses your neck and whispers in your ear, “ _I’m_ not the one callin’ the shots in this game, but _if_ you can tell me that _one little word_ you’re supposed to say…” Dean brings his hand up from your thigh and makes a slow circle over your plaid shirt-covered mound. “I can do a little more of _that…_ ”

The instant Dean’s fingertips touch you, you gasp and rock your hips into his calloused hand. “Impala.” He makes the same circle again, and you grip the bedding below you tightly in your fists. “Please,” you beg.

“Holy shit,” Dean groans under his breath as he watches you, already lost in your denial, even though he’s not even really touching you.

It’s only been a couple times that he’s _played_ with you and Sam, but it’s never been like this – just the two of you. Sam’s made it _very_ clear that you’re _his_ , and the rules of this particular game were made _abundantly_ clear to Dean: he can touch, taste, tease, maybe even torture if he’s up to it, the only thing he _isn’t_ allowed to do is make you come. Which is odd for Dean, considering that since he’s been a teenager, his sex life has been about making the person he’s with come – and he’s always taken pride in and enjoyed that. Then, he learned about the games that you and his little brother play in the dark, and some of his preferences… _broadened_.

He watches you under his slight touch: sensitive, responsive, and ridiculously needy, and Dean gets why Sam and you do this. He is _totally_ game for as long as you and Sam want him to be.

“There was one other thing that Sammy told me about,” Dean starts in a gravelly voice, sitting up on the bed, pulling your legs apart, bending your knees, and finding a place between them. He taps the center of your chin to get your attention, and gives you a classic-Dean Winchester smirk when you look up at him. “He told me about these fun, little things called, ‘birthday spankings.’ Now, I may not be… _whatever the hell Sam is_ , but birthday spankings? _Those_ I can do.”

The change in Dean’s tone, and the twinkle in his eyes actually makes you laugh, but you still make a face up at him about the spankings.

Dean laughs too and sits back on his heels, lightening the mood considerably. “What? C’mon, they’re fun!”

“Yeah, maybe for you, but that’s only because _you_ don’t have to walk around with your ass on fire and sit down in chairs, carefully.” You squirm a little bit, remembering – and feeling – all nine of Sam’s birthday spankings from earlier.

Still with the grin on his face, Dean nods his head and runs his hands up and down your thighs, from your knees to the outside of your hips. “You’re not wrong, there. So, how many did Sam give you?”

You feel your cheeks flush, because you suspect your answer is going to prompt some sort of teasing response from Dean. “Nine.”

“What?” Dean asks, actually surprised. “That’s nothing. _But_ it does give me a pretty good idea of what to give you first for your birthday.” He moves around your bent leg, sits on the edge of his bed, and then pats his knee.

Feeling your eyes bulge out of your head a little bit, you just look at Dean like he’s crazy.

“C’mon. Get over here.” He pats his knee again. “I’m a traditional kind of guy: over the knee, I say.”

You remember that Sam said he gave Dean permission to do _anything_ he wanted, with the exception of making you come, and anything outside your usage of the safeword goes without saying. Sam also told you that you’re supposed to listen to Dean like you listen to Sam. _Technically,_ that means Dean could _make_ you get over his knee _and_ punish you for not obeying him, so you quickly decide to go willingly.

After you turn around on the bed and move to lay yourself over Dean’s lap, he stops you and whispers in your ear, “How am I doin’ so far?”

Unable to stop yourself from smiling at Dean’s question, you chuckle just a little bit, in spite of your present position. “So far, so good,” you whisper back to him and ask, “Do you want me to say ‘Yes, Dean’?”

Dean groans in your ear and rests his head against the side of yours. “Tempting, but no; that’s Sammy’s thing.”

You nod your head and start to move yourself to Dean’s lap, but he stops you again and pulls you up, so you’re kneeling next to him. Before you can look at Dean and wonder why he stopped you again, his lips are kissing up your neck, over your jaw, and just barely press into your lips.

“S’just a game, Dean,” you murmur, sensing his hesitancy to kiss his brother’s girl, even though he puts on a brave face. “And you only have _one_ rule to follow.”

That’s all it takes, and Dean pulls you up on his lap, so you’re kneeling around the tops of his thighs. Once you’re there, his mouth is on yours, and he brings his fingers to the buttons of your shirt. He takes his time as he works them open, stealing his mouth away from yours and planting little kisses and nips on your skin after each button is worked open. When your arms are pulled free from the sleeves, he yanks his shirt over his head, and then pulls you closer to him.

As you wrap your arms around his neck, Dean can feel how much warmer your skin is than his. He can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples press into his chest, and he kisses you a couple of times, sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and teasing your tongue. When his hand wanders up into your hair and pulls your head back, so his can kiss down your neck, you sigh at the stimulation, even though it’s not _exactly_ what you’re craving. The little sigh changes to a deep you moan when Dean’s other hand wraps around your back and presses you down over the bulge in his jeans.

“That feel good?” Dean asks with a voice more rough than usual.

“Mmm hmm,” you answer weakly, feeling that familiar ache in your core awaken further, along with the burn on your ass.

There’s just a small amount of friction for Dean, but it’s insanely hot how sensitive you are; part of him wants to feel _exactly_ how sensitive you really are. “I know neither of us can come until your birthday, but did Sammy fuck you yet?”

“Nuh uh,” you manage to whimper, groaning at the thought and unconsciously rubbing yourself over Dean. “Please…”

“Sorry, kitten,” Dean husks, pulling you harder over him and pumping up against you. “Sammy said I can’t until he does, but I can do this…” He takes his hand from your hair, to lift you up a little bit, slides his hand between your legs, easing two fingers inside you, and growling softly when he feels how wet you are. “Ride my fingers, kitten, but ride ‘em _hard,_  so my hand pushes against my cock. Can you feel how hard it is?”

Moaning through all of Dean’s words and quivering everywhere, you nod your head and move yourself over Dean’s fingers. Both of you make strangled noises at the same time.

“Kitten’s pretty wet, can she take more?” He pulls his fingers away and only rubs them teasingly against your opening. “Does she want me to fill her up with my thick fingers?” He takes the little noises you make as a ‘yes,’ but still says, “Beg for it, kitten. I’ve heard you beg like a good kitten before. Beg me for it.”

You whine when Dean takes his fingers away, trying to push yourself closer, seeking the friction, wanting that slick slide and stretch again, but he just moves his fingers further away. “Please, Dean. I need it.”

“I know you do, but I think you can do better than that. Beg for it, kitten.” He reaches up and tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers. “Beg me for what you want.”

“Please,” you moan, arching your back and pushing your breast further into Dean’s hand. “Please, let me ride your fingers. Fill me up, Dean. Please, let me feel it.”

“Very good, kitten,” he praises, rolling your nipple between his fingers some more. “You beg _so_ _pretty_.”

When he slides his three fingers inside you, your hands grip the back of his neck as your head falls backward, and the appreciative sounds you give him go straight to his dick. Judging by how wet you are, he could probably slide in a fourth, but he doesn’t push. When you start to fuck Dean’s fingers, he takes his hand away from your nipple and pulls you tighter to him, squeezing his eyes shut at the heel of his hand pushing against his solid cock, _still_ trapped in his jeans.

The pressure is perfect, but he still grits out, “Harder, kitten.” You obey, and it rips a, “Fuck!” from his mouth. “Yeah, kitten, that’s perfect. Just like that.” He watches you riding his fingers, hears the sounds you make, and swallows them down when he kisses you. “Get yourself _right there_ , but you have to tell me when,” Dean groans against your mouth. “I have no _idea how_ the _fuck_ you do it, but you _have_ to tell me. Be a good birthday girl for Sam.”

You whimper into Dean’s mouth at the mention of Sam’s name, but nod your head and manage an affirmative sound, meaning that you promise you’ll tell Dean when you get close. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dean’s chair is _still_ empty, and even as he pulls heavy moans out of you, rubbing the tips of his fingers into your g-spot, you’re still able to wonder where Sam is.

Somehow, Dean manages to pull you even tighter to him, spreading your knees further apart, and as he helps you ride his fingers, part of his hand slides against your swollen clit. You moan hard into his mouth, gripping a handful of Dean’s hair tightly in your hands. His rough denim pushes up against the spanked-tender skin of your ass with a friction you suddenly can’t get enough of.

Doing the same motion over and over, making the same slide over your clit, Dean cants his hips up against his own hand, making your both groan at varying octaves. It doesn’t take very long for the warmth you’ve been craving for too many hours to count to fill you, and Sam’s voice echoes in your head, _Don’t come, little girl._

“No more, Dean,” you plead, pulling away from his lips. “I’ll come.”

He instantly stops, gently pulling his fingers from your pussy. You rest your cheek in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, trying to catch your breath as you feel _want_ thrumming inside you, filling you up with an urgency stronger than Dean’s fingers ever could.

Dean takes his hand from your hip and from between your legs, wipes your slick off on his jeans, and for a while, he rubs them comfortingly up and down your back, listening to your soft, little moans as you try to come down.

It feels like an eternity has passed since you woke up, and Dean’s dick throbs in his pants, pushing against the zipper, trapping it, while he throbs and leaks. He can feel the warmth and wetness from you, dampening the material all the way to his skin, mixing with his own healthy doses of precome. The thought makes his cock jump, and he forces himself to think about something else.

“You’re doin’ _so good_ , kitten,” Dean praises you when your breathing starts to steady. He feels you laugh softly against his neck. “What? I tried it out. You’ve been sittin’ in my lap, practically purring, but I’m pretty sure you don’t laugh at Sam when he says something to you.”

“No,” you groan. “Definitely not.”

“Thought so. Alright…” Dean grabs you by the waist and flips you over his knee, twisting his body slightly, so your upper body is resting on his bed and not hanging down the side of his leg.

You squeal, surprised, even though you’re used to Sam using his strength to position you however he wants you.  

“Well, maybe a good, old-fashioned spanking’ll get your ass in line.” Dean’s tone isn’t dark like Sam’s, maybe a little playful, but when his hand rubs over your bare ass, you know he means _exactly_ what he says.

As the palm of Dean’s hand strokes over every part of your ass and down the backs of your thighs, your breathing starts to come in heavier and more rapidly again. On the up stroke, you feel the rough pad of his thumb drag over the swollen lips of your pussy, and you sob at the miniscule touch, still on edge from before. Dean groans at the noises you make and does it again, but this time he slides his thumb between your folds and rubs your clit just once.

“Kitten’s a little messy,” he muses, enjoying the pressure and friction you’re giving his cock, trapped almost painfully in his jeans, when you squirm in his lap. “I might have to clean up her pretty little pussy, but that can wait until after she gets her birthday spankings. I’m thinkin’ we’ll do all sixteen: make your ass nice ‘n pink for Sammy and give me _lots_ to clean up.”

You shiver at his filthy mouth and moan, “Deeean.”

“That too much, kitten?” Dean asks, wondering if he got a little ahead of himself. “I want you to tell me if it is.”

It’s been a while – a _long_ time actually, since Sam’s given you more than a handful of spankings. It’ll suck, but you know you can handle it. As your answer, you shift a little on Dean’s lap, so you can bring both hands behind your back. You know there’s no way you’ll be able to stay still through all sixteen of his spankings.

Taking your wrists in one of his hands, Dean tells you, “Good thinkin’, kitten. I can already tell you’re a squirmer; I like that.” With his other hand, he rubs your ass again and drags the blunt edge of his fingernail over the sensitive spots, which must be still visible from the handful of spankings Sam gave you. “Sammy told me that you’re supposed to keep a count, so _I think_ I’m gonna have _you_ count all sixteen out loud for me. Make sure you keep track, or I’ll have to start over.”

Pressing your face into Dean’s bed, you mutter a breathy, “Fuck.” Then, you squeal when Dean pinches one of the marks on your ass.

“What was that, kitten?” He pinches it again, harder this time, groaning when you thrash a little in his lap.

“I’m sorry!” You proclaim, repeating yourself when you feel Dean’s fingers threaten to do it again. “I’m sorry. I’ll count. I swear, I’ll count.”

“You’re lucky Sammy told me I can’t fuck your mouth, or I’d put that sassy little mouth to good use. Before we start…” Dean traces the same mark on your ass, making you whimper. “Why don’t you tell me _why_ I can’t get my cock sucked?”

Sighing softly, you explain what happened with the short version. “Sam told me to come, and I told him ‘no’. _He_ fucked my mouth and probably told you that you couldn’t because _he_ thinks it was too much.” For good measure, you add very softly, “I’m sorry.”

Still rubbing your ass, but avoiding the sore places, Dean asks, “Does your throat hurt?”

You shake your head. “No, Dean.”

He swallows a groan when you say his name and traces the under-curve of one of your ass cheeks. “How come you didn’t want to come?”

You feel your cheeks flush, but you answer Dean just like you would Sam. “I like it when Sam makes me wait. I didn’t mean to say ‘no.’ Well, I did, but…” Your voice softens. “I wanted Sam to do it.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Dean’s hands gently rub up and down your thighs. “You’ve been wondering why Sam’s not in here, huh? I saw you eyein’ that chair.”

You pull on your wrists and turn as much as you can to look back at Dean. “Is that why he’s not in here? Be-because I didn’t listen?”

Hearing the change in your voice and you stumbling over your words, makes Dean feel like a dick. He lets go of your wrists, so he can sit you upright on his lap, and so he can take your face in his hands and rub your cheeks. “No, that’s not why. What were your exact words when you told Sam ‘no’?”

You look at the empty chair. “What I said before… I told him I _like it_ when he makes me wait…” Then it dawns on you: Sam’s making you _wait_. “Oh.”

“See?” Dean kisses you softly, still rubbing your cheeks. “Look at you: you’re _so fuckin’ good_ for Sammy. He’s not mad, and he’s not punishing you. He’s just… _making you wait._ But if you want me to go get him, I can do that.”

“No.” You shake your head and glance back at the empty chair one more time. “I’ll be good. I can wait.”

“There’s a good kitten.” Dean takes his hands away from your face and brings them down to stroke your ass, loving how you whimper. “At some point _I am_ going to have to give you those birthday spankings.”

You reason with yourself that since you often pout at Sam, it’s acceptable to do it to Dean as well.

“Don’t give me that,” he laughs and pokes your bottom lip. “No one likes a pouter. Get your ass up here. I’m a fuckin’ pro when it comes to spanking.” You give Dean a sassy look that he can read instantly, and he pinches that same place on your ass. You squeal again, but do as he says.

Once you’re back on Dean’s lap, and your wrists are in his hand, he goes back to rubbing your ass. “We’d have all kinds of fun if I got to do all thirty-two, but I’ll make the sixteen work. You ready, kitten? Seat belts fastened and table trays in the upright position?”

You bury your face in Dean’s bedding and take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable. “Yeah.”

“Here we go, kitten,” Dean chuckles, and you feel his cock jump in his jeans. “Make sure you count for me.”

 _Smack_!

Dean’s hand comes down on your ass, and it fucking _burns_ , but it’s not as bad as you thought. You still gasp and groan, but you can handle it.

“One.” You count your first spanking aloud.

“Very good, kitten.” Dean massages your ass in his hand and laughs to himself. “The _warm-ups_ aren’t so bad, are they?”

Just when you catch on to what Dean said, his hand comes down with two, three, and four, faster than you can count. They’re still not exactly hard, but they burn, they sting, and they make you whine, panting and rocking in Dean’s lap. He lets you squirm and switches the hand out that’s holding your wrists behind your back.

Once you catch your breath, you whimper, “Four.”

You feel Dean shift a little bit, and as you try to look back to see what he’s doing, number five comes down on the center of your ass with the tips of his fingers slapping against the slick lips of your pussy. It was much softer than the ones before it, but guttural moan still rips itself from your throat. The force of Dean’s hand still stings like a son of a bitch, but the vibrations go straight to your clit.

“Five,” you sob out a second before six, seven, eight, and nine are delivered just a little bit harder, in the exact same place. “Fuck, Fuck, FUCK, _FUCK_!” You yell, twisting in Dean’s lap.

“Yeah, kitten. Those aren’t numbers.” Dean chuckles to himself. “I need a number, or we’ll have to start over.”

“Nine,” you growl through clenched teeth, feeling your clit throb with the rest of you, _so_ _close_ to coming.

“Feisty little kitten. Even better.” He drags his fingertips over your _very_ pink skin. “Almost done. Does your ass burn yet?”

“Yes,” you hiss, rocking in Dean’s lap, trying to find some sort of friction on your aching clit, even though _you know_ you shouldn’t.

Not helping matters, ten and eleven come down so hard on your ass that your body is shoved up, and your pussy is pushed right into Dean’s knee. When he feels your whole body stiffen, Dean grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the pink flesh.

“Eleven,” you gasp, rubbing yourself against Dean’s knee, humming softly at the delicious pressure.

“Whatcha doin’ down there? Did kitten find somethin’ nice to rub her pussy against?” When you only moan helplessly for your answer, Dean moves his knee away and spanks you again with way more force than the previous two. “Answer me,” he demands in a dark tone.

Hot burning melts into scorching sting, but before it takes away your ability to form words, you manage to sob an answer to Dean’s question. “Yes! Please, give it back!”

“Oh, kitten,” Dean soothes in a rough tone, taking his hand away from your ass to palm his throbbing cock, either needing more or less, he doesn’t know anymore. “Did you forget where we were? I hope you didn’t, because we were almost done.”

“Twelve! At twelve,” you bleat, not wanting to start over. “Please, give it back. I need…”

“I already told you, kitten, I can’t give you what you need; only Sammy can.” _SMACK_!

“Thirteen! Dean, give it back!” 

Using the dark tone again, he growls, “No.” Dean shifts again and makes his mark the glistening, pink lips of your pussy. Fourteen and fifteen are right on target. They’re only a little bit softer than the previous two, their sting making you thrash in his lap. 

“Fifte- Shit! No, no! I can’t! FUCK! I’m gonna… I need to… _Please_ , Dean. I _need_ to come.”

“Shhh,” he whispers in a husky and ragged voice, deeper than one he’s swears he’s ever used before. “You’re _not_ gonna come; not yet. You’re gonna be good, and wait for Sammy just like you said you wanted, right? Can you do that for me? I know you can; I’ve _seen_ you do it before. Be good for Sammy. Just one left, and then we’ll be all done.”

You’re not even moving in Dean’s lap. There’s no pressure on his cock, except for the fucking zipper he’s about to bust through. He can commiserate with how you’re feeling: he wants to, scratch that, _needs_ to come too.

Dean’s words and about four hundred deep breaths help you calm down. You lick your lips and relax every muscle in your body. “Fifteen.”

Seeing the pink color of your ass, feeling the warmth of it in his hand, inches above your skin, and seeing the amount of slick leaking from you, Dean knows he has to be careful to not make you come. He knows Sam would never _hurt_ you, but what happens when you come without permission has never been discussed. Judging by how fucking hard you try to be good for Sam, Dean assumes it can’t be pleasant, and he’s pretty sure he’d rather not be part of that. Though, maybe he would – he has no fucking idea.

There’s a spot on your left ass cheek that’s a less pink than the surrounding areas and looks to be the lesser of several other evils. None of the spankings he’s given you have necessarily been _hard –_ he’s doled out _much harder_ ones on varying occasions – his hand isn’t even burning, but Dean still tightens his hold on your wrists and moves his knee the fuck out of the way. When his hand comes down, it’s barely a swat. As soon as he’s done, he watches you moan into his blanket, and for the first time, notices the beads of sweat on your back and how your toes curl down against the bottoms of your feet. You make one more unintelligible sound that sounds vaguely like ‘sixteen,’ writhe one more time on his lap, and then just lay there and pant.

The sound of your heavy breathing does absolutely _nothing_ to help the ache in Dean’s cock, but he still carefully pulls you up into his lap. He’s thankful that your knees naturally fall around either side of his thighs, because he spreads his knees a little bit, so your ass doesn’t press into his jeans.

Dean smoothes your sweaty hair from your face, reaches over for the bottle of water and tips it to your mouth, feeling his cock jump impatiently at how your lips wrap around the top of the bottle to drink. Once the water is gone, he throws the bottle on the floor and holds you, while the two of you catch your breath.

“Your ass hurt?” Dean asks with every attempt to keep a straight face, but when you chuckle a little bit, he grins.

“It’s been worse,” you answer softly. “But I’m sure it’s gonna suck later.”

“I got some cooling lotion shit I can put on it, if you want. Kinda like Icy/Hot without the Hot.”

“I’m kinda intrigued to know why you’ve got ‘ass cooling lotion shit’ on hand,” you sass.

“Again with the smart mouth.” Dean chuckles against your neck, nibbling a little bit for good measure. “For someone who just got their ass beat, you’d think I’d’a knocked that out of you,” he teases, not _really_ having _beat_ your ass, just pinked it up a little bit. “But if you _must know_ , I put it on my knee sometimes. Feels cold. Thought it would help, but if you want to sit here with your ass on fire, that’s fine by me.”

“No.” You shake your head, nuzzling into Dean’s neck. “Please, put it on me.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Dean moves up his bed and stretches one hand to reach the drawer in his nightstand. When he finds the little tube, he squirts some in his hand. “It’s really cold, just so you know.”

“M’kay,” you whimper, clinging to Dean more tightly, since his hands aren’t holding you anymore.

The instant he touches the cooling lotion to your ass, your hips launch forward and rub against Dean, moaning like he just pushed his cock in you.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, holding you with one strong hand on your hip. “You wanna rub that teased pussy on me while I rub this on your ass?”

“Please?” You try to do it again, needing _something_ touching you, but Dean still holds you in place.

“ _Shit_. Yeah, but these fuckin’ jeans gotta go. Sit up on your knees for me, kitten.”

After you push yourself up, still on your knees around Dean’s thighs, he quickly rips open his jeans, groaning at the lack of confinement and how his cock springs free, the head bouncing up against your pussy. When he pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, Dean smears the lotion in his hand down the side of his knee, but the jeans are gone, so he doesn’t care. With his hands on your waist, he eases you back down, and there’s no place for his dick to go, so it bends down almost painfully. Dean almost lifts you back up, but then there’s the slick warmth of your pussy over it, and he doesn’t give a shit.

“I can’t fuck you, kitten,” Dean groans, wanting to more than just about anything. “God only knows what Sammy would do if I did.”

“Probably make _me_ beat _your_ ass,” you whisper in Dean’s ear, your lips brushing against his skin.

Dean growls low in his throat. “Don’t tempt me. I couldn’t anyway; I’d probably come in two seconds. Just rub that empty little pussy over me, and I’ll take care of your ass.”

Balancing you carefully on his parted thighs, Dean squirts more lotion in his hand and starts to spread it over the warm flesh of your ass. Once again, like you can’t control yourself, you start rocking against him. There’s the hot slide of your insanely wet pussy over his cock, with the icy, cold lotion on his hands, and he has to force himself not to grip your burning ass in his hands to make you go faster.

Feeling the ridge of Dean’s cock catch on your opening every time you slide yourself over him, makes you keen and move faster. The angle is wrong, so you can’t get the right pressure on your clit, but that’s probably a good thing. Every time Dean’s hand rubs into your ass, it burns for a second, but the cold feels amazing, dulling the sting, leaving behind only ache and need.

“Alright, kitten,” Dean groans, stopping you when the head of his cock rubs against you, and he almost comes. “I can’t- I’ll- _Fuck. Shit!_ That’s enough.”

He almost reaches down to wrap his fist around his cock, but stops himself just in time – he’d rather not have a cold dick on his hands… _literally_. Instead, he brings his hands up to your breasts and rubs what’s leftover on his hands over your skin, making sure most of it gets on your nipples. You sob at the cooling tingle of the lotion and how it makes your nipples tighten. Unable to control yourself, you start rub yourself over Dean again. He literally can’t have you touching him for another second, so he quickly lifts you off his lap and lays you down on his bed.

As soon as your ass touches the bedding, you cry out, pushing yourself up on your feet and the backs of your shoulders. Dean knows the soft cotton of his blanket probably feels like burlap on your tender skin, so he twists himself around and gives your pussy a little lick to distract you. You thrust your hips up when he takes his mouth away, but just find air.

“Lay that ass down, kitten, and I’ll give you some more. I’ll make it feel better, just lay down.”

“Dean, I can’t. I’m sorry. Please, let me lay on my stomach,” you beg, not moving.

“Do what Dean says, little girl,” Sam’s voice whispers in your ear, seemingly coming from nowhere.

Instantly obeying Sam and not caring where he came from, you slowly start to ease your lower body down, and Dean holds you by your waist to help you. You sob when your skin touches the bedding, but then Dean’s mouth is back between your legs, gently licking you clean and twisting the burn into pleasure.

Kneeling on the floor next to Dean’s bed, Sam slides his arms under your shoulders and pulls your upper body closer to him. It’s like both Winchesters silently coordinate the little maneuver, because Dean moves your lower body at the same time. You almost shriek at the friction on your ass, but Dean’s mouth is quickly on your clit, and Sam’s mouth in on yours.

“Saaam,” you moan against his lips, trying to pull him closer to you.

“Easy, little girl. I’m right here.” Sam pets your hair. “Be a good girl, and let Dean clean you up. Were you good for him?”

“I tried, Sam. I really did,” you pant and moan, moving yourself against Dean’s face.

Dean chuckles between your legs. “She’s got a mouth on her, Sammy. Even after a turned her ass a pretty shade of pink.”

Sam chuckles too. “Yeah? We’ll have to work on that naughty little mouth another day. Won’t we, little girl?”

“Yes, Sam,” you’re able to answer, only because Dean’s mouth has moved away from your clit and is licking the creases of your thighs clean.

“So, how many of your birthday spankings did _my_ little girl get?”

“All of them, Sam. All sixteen.”

“I guess that explains why it smells like Icy/Hot in here.” Taking your breasts in his huge hands, Sam rubs them and groans when you whimper in that needy way you always do. “How many times did Dean edge you?”

“I don’t…” You moan pitifully. “Too many, Sam. I don’t know.”

“Only two or three times,” Dean answers for you, curling his tongue over your opening and making you thrust your hips up against his face.

“Well, that’s not so bad.” Sam circles your shiny nipples, coated with Icy/Hot, with the tips his fingers and licks at the sweat on your temples. “You look so pretty like this; I wanna watch you, little girl. How many more can you take?”

“Sam, I can’t. Please…,” you beg him through a moan, feeling _everything_ throb as Sam touches your ultra-sensitive nipples. “I know I’ll come.”

“You better not, little girl,” Sam warns. “You’re the one who said you like it when I tease you and make you wait. I’m just doing what you asked. Give me a number, right now, little girl, or I’ll pick one for you.”

“Three, Sam,” you throw out the first number that pops into your head and try again to pull him closer. “Please, only three.”

“Very good, little girl.” Sam shifts next to you, getting closer and starts gently rubbing your stiff and pointed nipples again. “Dean’s gonna lick you nice and slow. I’m just gonna watch and keep your nipples nice and hard, then we’ll take a break.”

You nod your head and writhe on the bed even though it aches. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re welcome, little girl. Just be good for us.”

Just like Sam said, Dean licks you soft and slow, just barely teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking all around it, and softy sucking your soft skin into his mouth. It still only takes a little bit of time, and you’re _right there_. As soon as you are, Dean takes his mouth away, and Sam’s fingers are gone from your nipples.

“You’re doin’ _so_ good for us, little girl. Take a couple breaths, and Dean’s gonna do it again, nice and slow. Don’t worry about answering me, just do as you’re told and breathe.”

As soon as you breathe in and out twice, Dean’s mouth is back on you, pushing his tongue inside you, curling and licking as far as he can, while groaning softly into your pussy. Sam’s thumbs barely get a second to brush over your painfully hard nipples, and you’re throbbing, right on the brink.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groans, grabbing his cock tightly in his hand – fuck the Icy/Hot– because he almost comes untouched.

Sam chuckles and kisses the side of your face, whispering in your ear, “I can see on Dean’s face how fucking wet you are, and I can’t wait to get my cock in there. I bet Dean can’t either. You almost made him come, and you’re not even doin’ anything – that’s how good _my_ little girl is for us.

“Saaam,” you whimper his name, because his mouth, even though it’s not on you, is going to make you come.

“Shhh. I know, little girl. Just one more, and then we’re done. I’ll let you rest for a little while, then it’ll be time for your birthday present. Be good, so Dean can help me give it to you.”

You feel your whole body shudder, then Dean’s mouth is back on you, and Sam’s hands are back on your breasts. Not even having time to force yourself to relax and just _take_ what Dean’s doing to you, his tongue is doing that curling thing again, and an intense heat, hotter than your ass, lights in your middle. Just as you squirm to get away from Dean’s tongue, any and all stimulation is gone, except for Sam’s hand, which is petting your hair.

“You did _so_ good, little girl,” he whispers in your ear, as he slides his arms under your knees and arms, lifting your overly-pliant body up off of Dean’s bed. “Just relax and breathe; I’ll take care of you.”

When Sam turns to walk out of his bedroom, Dean grumbles, “I’ll just wait here…” He looks down at his dripping cock. “With the can of fuckin’ rock salt between my legs.”

Not taking his eyes off of you, Sam tosses over his shoulder, “You can watch, if you want…”


	3. Time for a Birthday!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday that started with a shower for two, has escalated delightfully into another of Sam’s masterful plans, and as a special treat, he’s asked Dean to lend a hand . . . or two, if you’re willing. While more than willing, you got a little overly “mouthy” during the first part of his plan, and as punishment, you’ve been waiting until the time of your birth – nine hours later – to get your much-anticipated present. Suffering the wait right along with you, Dean has helped Sam do everything possible to make your wait as delightfully torturous as possible, including 32 birthday spankings: 16 birthday per brother. 
> 
> Dean’s finished his, but have you kept count of Sam’s spankings like a good little girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that _typically_ reader-inserts are supposed to be rather vague in personal details. However, this fic and the previous two chapters, came about because I really did turn 32 (though my birthday went NOTHING like this), and I felt that the specific age detail needed to be there, so the number of birthday spankings could be specific.
> 
> If you’re younger than thirty-two, congratulations, you’ve just been rapidly aged.  
> If you’re older than thirty-two, matzel tov, you’re in your early 30’s again. :)
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who sent me happy birthday and ‘When the hell are you going to post the last chapter? I’m DYING over here!’ messages. They all make me smile and really encourage me to get my ass in gear. Thank you again. 
> 
> Me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spectaculacular-sammy  
> Me on Twitter: @PlaidCladMoose
> 
> And, as always, a thank you to lady_ataralasse, for helping a gal out and making sure there’s no ‘niffles,’ ‘pens,’ or ‘heaving beasts’ in this fic. You’re amazing! (ps. EIGHT DAYS!!!!!)

It feels like _hours_ pass you by, as Sam kneels between your parted legs, softly dragging a cool washcloth over every inch of your body. A damp, but comforting coolness strokes over your forehead, lips, and cheeks, as “You’re doin’ _so good_ , little girl,” is whispered into your ear.

When the washcloth spreads its coolness over your shoulders, down your arms, up your sides, and over your breasts, you can hear Sam’s soft voice murmur something. Even in your denial-filled haze, mixed with the heat of Sam’s body and the comforting chill of the wash cloth, you know he’s not talking to you, so you let yourself sink further into the blur.

While Sam and his hands bring the washcloth down your inner thighs, you feel the bed shift next to you. Suddenly, there are two cool washcloths on your body: one dabbing at the hollow of your neck and one gently dragging behind your knees.

Out of nowhere, the coolness vanishes, traded out for Sam’s mouth on your lips. He kisses you so soft and slow, as if he’s trying to coax you out of your daze and into his mouth. Each brush of Sam’s tongue against yours awakens aches and burns, wants and needs, and willingly, you follow Sam, knowing that everything you could ever want can only be given to you by him.

With his body draped over you, his hot skin flush with yours, Sam continues to kiss you until your body naturally starts to rock up against his. Still, he keeps his kisses slow, working to draw you into him, and little by little, he feels your hands cling tighter to him, pulling him down to you. Your knees hook on his hip bones, drawing your body upward, and closing as many of the spaces between the two of you as possible.

Sam lets you cling to him, loving how you make your body mold to his, trying to touch every part of him that you can. He groans into your mouth when the head of his cock is grazed by your pussy, the wet glide warm and slick. That deep groan pulls you out of the blur and makes your kisses change from soft and slow to _needy_. Sam can feel your hands grabbing at his back, still trying to pull him closer to you, trying to pull him _into_ you, and that’s when your kisses change from _needy_ to **_hungry_** _._

 _That’s_ what Sam was waiting for.

Each touch and every kiss Sam gives to you is calculated, carefully gauged to ease you from pliant, to needy, to _ravenous_. Sam wants you this way, wants you to _see_ and _feel_ every single thing he’s got planned for you. It’s your birthday, and Sam has _so_ _many_ plans.

“Please, Sam,” you beg breathlessly against his lips. “I need it _so bad._ ”

“What, little girl?” Sam asks in a dark whisper, as he sits back on his knees and pulls you up onto the tops of his thighs. “What do you need?”

“Saaaaaam,” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter and rocking in his lap, trying to find some much needed pressure on your pussy. “ _Please_.”

“Tell me what you need, little girl.” Sam wraps his hands around your hips, stopping you from moving in his lap. “But you know you can’t come yet. You were naughty, and naughty little girls have to _wait_ to get their presents.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you tell him while trying not to squirm in his lap, trying to show him how you can be good. “I’ll be good, I swear I will.”

“I know you will.” Sam kisses you just long enough to draw you in, but then stops, making you whine and pant against his lips. “Tell me what you need, little girl.”

“I need you to fuck me, Sam. Please,” you beg some more. “Sam, I need it. _Please._ ”

“I know you do, little girl,” he answers, slowly moving your hips over him, just once, so your sensitive pussy glides right over his length. “But how about this? Dean’s got something for you, and I think you’ll be naughty and come, if I fuck you while he gives it to you.”

“I won’t, Sam; I promise won’t,” you insist, practically shaking with need.

“I _know you_ , little girl; you will. I know you don’t want to be naughty, not when we’re _so close_ to your birthday. So, just sit still and be good for Dean.”

As soon as the words are out of Sam’s mouth, Dean kneels behind you, presses his naked body into your back, and kisses the back of your neck. “Hey there, birthday girl,” he drawls in your ear, while his hands run up and down the outsides of your thighs, still straddling Sam. “I’ve got a little something for you, but I’m gonna need you get on your hands and knees for me, so I can to give it to you.”

Even though Sam told you to listen to Dean like the instruction were coming directly from Sam, he still told you to ‘sit still,’ so you look at him for permission.

Giving you a grin of approval, Sam tells you, “Do what Dean says, little girl.”

The look on Sam’s face practically makes you melt, but you answer, “Yes, Sam.”

Taking you by the waist, Dean helps you up from Sam’s lap, but as soon as Sam sees his brother’s hands on you, a rush of possessiveness runs through him. Sam knows he came up with this idea, and he knows he laid out all the rules to Dean, plain as day. Sam _wants_ this. He’s told you before that he _likes_ to watch, and he meant it. Seeing you needy under his brother’s hands, makes Sam hard as a fucking rock, makes him _so hard_ that he aches. It might be Dean’s hands on your body, but it’s another form of control for Sam.

Every needy moan that comes out of your mouth, every shiver than runs through your body, and every _single_ drop of wetness that leaks from your deprived pussy is _for Sam._ They’re _all_ for Sam, but even still, before Dean can get you off of Sam’s lap, Sam grabs your face and fiercely kisses you. Once his lips are on yours, his hands move back into your hair, gripping it tightly in his fists, and he sloppily thrusts his tongue into your mouth, savagely dominating it and making it _his_. After giving your bottom lip a bite that’s _just shy_ of painful, Sam gives you a moment to catch your breath.

He rests his forehead against yours, and he whispers, “Do you even _know_ what you do to me? Do you even _know_ how much I want to fuck _my_ little girl until she screams _my_ name?”

Hearing Sam talk like that does absolutely _nothing_ to help you catch your breath. Wanting, _needing_ , that very same thing, all you can do is moan, “Please, Sam.”

“Oh, _I will_ , little girl.” Sam chuckles darkly, kissing his way down your neck.

When his lips find that _one spot_ on your neck that he _knows_ makes you putty in his hands, Sam licks it with a broad stripe of his tongue, groaning at your taste. Before you can even make a sound, his teeth are biting into your skin, sucking it into his mouth, and drawing up blood just under the surface. The instant Sam does this, you know _exactly_ what he’s doing: he’s marking you, marking what is _his._ You tilt your head to the side and give Sam what he wants, what _belongs to him_.

Growling appreciatively at your show of submissiveness to him, Sam clamps his teeth down on your skin one more time, and it makes you cry out at the almost-pain. The pressure is so strong, that even though you know he won’t, it feels like Sam might break through your skin. The second you have the thought, Sam’s teeth are gone, replaced by soothing little kisses and soft licks that take the sting away.

Pulling away from your neck and letting go of your hair, Sam looks at the purplish-red bruise blooming on your neck. He gives you a filthy, but pleased grin and growls under his breath, “ _Mine_.”

Incredibly turned on and needy, your breathing is erratic. Your chest heaves, expanding and contracting between Sam’s body in front of you and Dean’s body behind you, but you’re only paying attention to Sam. “Yours,” you breathe raggedly. “ _Only_ yours, Sam.”

Satisfied with his show of dominance and the evidence of his possession, Sam touches the mark he made on your neck lightly with his fingertips. “Be a good little girl for _me_ …” Sam tells you in a sinfully dark voice, feeling his cock grow impossibly hard as he looks at the mark on your neck. “Do what Dean said: hands and knees.”

The last thing you want to do is move away from Sam, but more than that, you want to be good for him. You answer with a shaky, yet obedient, “Yes, Sam,” and unwrap your arms from his neck.

Dean saw _everything_ Sam just did to you, and as soon as you were pulled out of his arms and back to Sam, Dean quickly took his hands off of you. He’s fully aware that he has Sam’s permission to touch you, but he _very clearly_ saw the look in Sam’s eyes. The look wasn’t directed _to him_ , but Dean still recognizes a display of ‘this is _mine_ ,’ when he sees one.  

After Sam tells you, “Do what Dean said: hands and knees,” Dean watches you take your arms from around Sam’s neck, but Dean still doesn’t move to touch you. He’s still kneeling right behind you, with his hands flat on the bed below him, but the only move he makes is to cautiously look up at Sam. A beat after he does, Sam slowly reaches down, grabs Dean’s wrist, and places his hand on your waist.

A little breath Dean didn’t even know he was holding, comes out as a quiet sigh of relief. It may have been you who told Dean that ‘it’s just a game,’ but Sam’s _always_ been the one calling the shots in this _game_ ; Dean has _no desire_ to get on the wrong side of that. He’s just a _guest star_ , and he’s got rules to play by.

Following his brother’s lead, Dean slowly takes his other hand from the bed and brings it to the other side of your waist, then helps you up off of Sam’s lap. Once you’re kneeling between the two of them, Sam shifts so he’s sitting on the bed instead of kneeling, and Dean just barely skims his fingers up your ribs, to the outside curves of your breasts. He can feel the tiny, little goose bumps that rise up on your skin, hear the choked off whine you make, and see Sam’s dark eyes watching his hands on you like a hawk. Thankfully, the wild look of possessiveness is pretty much gone from Sam’s eyes, and Dean relaxes just a little bit.

“Alright, kitten,” Dean whispers, nuzzling at the sweaty hairs behind your ear. The vivid purple mark on your neck stares him right in the face, reminding Dean of his place: touch, taste, tease, even torture if he’s up to it, but you’re Sam’s, and _only_ Sam gets to make you come. “I want you to bend over. Instead of hands and knees, just put your head in Sammy’s lap, but I want you to keep that sweet, little ass in the air for me.”

You can’t see the mark Sam left on your neck, but you can still feel it. Your pulse throbs under it, quickening with every word Dean says and from the watchful eye of Sam. The heat left behind from Sam’s mouth, radiates all over your body, mixes with your own, and makes you ache more than you ever thought possible. A new heat fans across your skin when Dean gently pushes on the middle of your back and eases your head down into Sam’s lap.

A moan slips out of your mouth when your face touches the inside of Sam’s thigh, feeling his hot skin under your flushed cheek. Right in your sights, Sam’s cock stands rigid and hard. Blurts of pre-come drip down the shaft, leaking down over protruding veins, and with every heavy breath you take, you can smell the hot and heady scent that can only be described as _Sam._ You want all of it in your mouth, so without thinking, you move your face just slightly. Just as you open your mouth to lick at the wetness dribbling down Sam’s cock, a tight fist is in your hair, pulling you away.

“My cock doesn’t go in your naughty mouth unless _I_ say it does, little girl.”

You whine softly in Sam’s lap, but manage to get out, “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“ _Stay still_ for Dean,” Sam tells you in his dark voice, then moves your head where he wants it in his lap, so your cheek is resting on his thigh again. Sam keeps his fingers in your hair, but loosens his grip just, so his fingers stay tangled in your hair.

“Yes, Sam,” you answer obediently, then feel a cool slick drag between your ass cheeks and just barely touch your tight hole. Shocked at the sudden touch, you gasp, then moan when it happens again.

“Shhh, kitten,” Dean soothes from behind you, still rubbing the pad of his lube-slicked finger around your rim. “I’m gonna open you up nice and slow. Stay still just like Sam said, and just breathe for me.”

Dean hears you whine your response and sees you nod your head, so he continues circling your hole with his finger. He can feel you loosening up every time he makes a pass over it, so he adds a little bit more lube from the bottle Sam left out for him and very gently pushes the very tip of his finger inside you. When you answer his little movement with more needy whining noises, Dean shallowly works his fingertip in and out, adding a little bit more depth each time.

Seeing how wet you are and hearing the impatient, little sounds that come from your mouth does _not_ help the ache in Dean’s cock. He’s not sure he’s _ever_ been this hard or this wet before. Needing _something,_ just as he slides the whole length of his finger into your tight heat, Dean ruts his dick up against your glistening folds, just slightly.

Instantly, you sob into Sam’s thigh, unable to stop yourself from trying to rub back against Dean, but you’re held still when he wraps a hand around your waist.

“Kitten,” Dean’s voice comes from behind you, dark, raspy, and full of warning, at the _exact_ same time Sam’s fingers tighten in your hair again. “I’m pretty sure _we both_ told you to stay still…”

You wince into Sam’s thigh when you feel the blunt edge of Dean’s fingernail trace along a particularly sensitive spot on your ass. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay still.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah…I doubt that, kitten.” He works his finger in and out of your ass, adds some more lube, and starts to press in a second. “Hold still until I get to three, and I’ll let you squirm all you want.”

Part of you wants to know what Dean’s going to do once he gets three fingers in your ass, but another part of you doesn’t even care. You bury your face in Sam’s thigh, nod your head, and answer verbally because you know Sam would want you to. “I’ll stay still.”

“Very good, little girl,” Sam praises, rubbing your scalp with his fingers that are still threaded in your hair. “We’re _so close_.”

Same as the first, Dean works his two fingers inside you just a little bit at a time. The sounds you make are muffled in Sam’s lap, but by the time he’s got both fingers inside your ass, you’re _clearly_ begging for more. Still, Dean takes his time when he scissors you open and coaxes your inner muscles loose.

“You’re doin’ so good, kitten,” Dean tells you in a rough voice as he pulls both his fingers out of you, adds more lube, and rubs the slippery pads of three fingers against your hole. “Just _one_ more.”

The pressure, the _full_ feeling, and not being allowed to move, are making you _crazy_. It’s not until Sam slides the tip of his finger into your mouth, do you realize you’re sucking and tonguing his thigh, desperately craving _something_ in your mouth.

“Just relax, little girl.” Sam slides his finger in and out of your mouth, groaning at how you try to swallow it down and moan at the same time.

Still kneeling behind you, Dean watches you suck down Sam’s finger, and his cock throbs and drips. It aches from not being touched, aches from seeing you trying to devour Sam’s hand, and it jumps restlessly every time he fucks his fingers in and out of your ass. It’s clear that _you_ want to get this show on the road, and Dean’s dick wants the same thing, so _very carefully_ , he drags a finger from his free hand, up the slit of your soaking folds. When your whole body seizes up, trying _so hard_ to be good and stay still, Dean slides the tips of his three fingers past the your rim and first ring of muscle.

“Jesus Christ, kitten, you’re fucking _soaked_ ,” Dean pants huskily, still tracing the line of your dripping pussy and working your ass open on the tips of his fingers. After you moan out a desperate, choked off sound as your reply, Dean eases his fingers further into your tight hole a little bit more. “You’re doin’ _so good_. Almost there, kitten. Almost there. You ready?”

“Please,” you sob around Sam’s lone finger, trying to get him to give you another one, but he doesn’t.

With very little pressure, Dean eases all three of his fingers completely inside you. He groans, feeling you squeeze his fingers, and his cock twitches and jumps almost like it’s jealous. “ _Shit_ ,” he gasps, taking his hand from the lips of your pussy and wraps it around his dripping cock, tugging just a little bit.  

“Deeeean,” you whine around Sam’s finger. You whole body is quivering from trying to keep it still. You _need_ to move. “Can I?”

Lost in his own denial, for just a second, Dean has no idea what the hell you’re asking him, but he quickly figures it out. “ _Fuck_. Yeah, kitten. Go ahead and fuck this pretty ass on my fingers.”

He had planned on letting you push back into his hand only five or six times and then telling you to stop, but once you start moving, Dean’s plans kind of fly out the window. He watches your pussy leak down onto the bed between your knees, hears the desperate sounds you’re making, and part of Dean wonders if you could come like this. When he starts to imagine that it’s his cock buried deep in your ass, feeling how tight you are, slicked up from his ample applications of lube, a deep, “ _Ahem_ ,” from Sam, yanks Dean out of his reverie.

“ _Shit_. Right. All right, kitten, that’s enough.” Dean takes his hand from his aching cock, uses it to hold your hips still, and carefully pulls his fingers out of you. When you whine at the loss and feel empty, he gently rubs the small of your back. “I know, just give me a sec; I’ll fill you back up.”

Next to the bottle of lube that Sam left out for him, is a sizeable, black butt plug. When Dean first saw it, he thought it would take _forever_ to loosen you up enough to make it fit. With another dollop of lube, he nudges the tip against your hole.

As soon as you feel the slick silicone being worked in and out of your ass, you know _exactly_ what it is, and it’s _not_ Dean’s cock. When Sam tells you, “Breathe out,” you somehow manage to obey, and you feel your body naturally pull the plug firmly into place.

Hearing you gasp and whine and seeing you try to rock back into him, Dean has to reach down and wrap his fist around the base of his cock. He needs _something_ , something _more_ or something _less_ , whatever _it_ is, Dean needs it.

Sam, however, doesn’t need anything but what’s right in front of him. The desperate whimpers you’re making in his lap, and the way your mouth suckles on his finger, make him ache even more, so Sam pulls his finger free from your lips and drags it up and down the underside of his cock. Once the pad of his finger is coated in his own pre-come, Sam brings it back to you mouth. He groans when you eagerly lick it clean, sucking his whole finger into his mouth, licking away his taste, and whining when it’s gone.

“All right, little girl.” Sam pulls his finger out of your mouth and lifts you up by the shoulders, so you’re up on your knees. He grins when you squirm at the plug’s thick girth stretching you and keeping you open. “Now that Dean’s got _my_ little girl’s ass filled with that plug, I’ve got a few more birthday spankings to give you.”

“Y-y-yes, S-sam,” you stutter through a moan when Sam’s hands come up to cup your breasts, and his thumbs circle over your nipples.

“I didn’t get to watch it, but you told me that Dean gave you _all sixteen_ spankings,” Sam tells you with that dark and sexy smirk on his face. “Do you remember how many _I_ gave you?”

As soon as the question comes from Sam, your brain goes blank. All you can think about is Sam’s fingers on your nipples, and Dean’s hands stroking up and down your hips, over your ass, and over base of the thick plug in your ass. Ache throbs between your legs, and a heavy need thrums through your whole body, all working against you, making you forget. Dean gave you all sixteen of your birthday spankings, but did Sam give you seven, or did he give you nine?

 _Seven or nine? Nine or seven?_ Sam’s fingers gently roll your painfully hard nipples, and you whine. _What are numbers again?_  

“Did _my_ little girl forget?” Sam asks, tracing the underside of your breasts and shushing you when you whimper. “Do you remember what I said would happen if you lost track?”

Now _that_ you remember. “Yes, Sam. You said if I forgot, you’d have to start over. Dean gave me all sixteen, and you-you, Sam, you gave me…” _Seven or nine? Nine or seven?_ “Sam, you gave me seven.”

The second you hear Dean’s quiet chuckle from behind you and see the little smirk twitch on the corner of Sam’s mouth, you know you’re wrong. Just as you open your mouth to correct yourself, to claim that your brain is mush, and you misspoke, confusing how many Sam gave you with how many he had left, Sam’s finger is on your lips.

“Shhh. I know, little girl. Sixty-four birthday spankings _is_ a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sam. Please, I know you gave me nine; I just --”

“Shhh,” Sam repeats, shaking his head. He didn’t make the rule that you _had_ to keep track of how many birthday spankings you got as a punishment. Sam’s nine spankings may have been a little hard; he’s sure Dean’s sixteen were too, but they’re still supposed to be at least a _little_ fun. He sees you trying _so hard_ not to squirm on the plug, trying to be _so good_ for him, so he says, “How about this? You were a good little girl for Dean, and you kept track, just like you were supposed to for his sixteen. So, how about we just start over on _my_ sixteen?”

Feeling your ass burn from _both_ Sam and Dean’s hands from earlier, you’re still cursing yourself for being wrong, but another sixteen birthday spankings is better than another thirty-two. You nod your head. “Yes, Sam.”

Sam grins. “Also, since I didn’t get to see it before, how about I just watch this time, and I let Dean give you _my_ sixteen?”

Sam may be forming his ideas into questions, but you know they’re not up for discussion. What are you supposed to say? _No thanks, Sam. I’d rather not have any more spankings at all._ No way. You’ve already disobeyed when Sam told you to make yourself come earlier, and you have no desire to do it a second time. You answer once again, “Yes, Sam.”

“There’s _my_ good girl.” Sam’s grin widens, and he sees Dean’s got a sideways grin of his own. “Show me how good you were for Dean when he spanked you before.”

Still with the grin on his face, because Dean fucking _loves_ spanking, he takes what Sam said as his cue. “How did I get so lucky, kitten?” he whispers from behind you, into your ear. “I get to take you over my knee _twice_. I _told you_ we’d get to have all kinds of fun if I got to do all thirty-two spankings.”

Just like he did before, Dean shifts on Sam’s bed, so he’s sitting on the edge with his feet on the floor. When you follow him and start to drape yourself over his lap, Dean realizes that he may have neglected to think his enthusiasm through. It felt _amazing_ to have you squirm and thrash in his lap when he spanked you earlier, _but_ he had jeans on then – a denim barrier between _you_ and _his cock_. Completely naked now, Dean’s missing that barrier, and when he takes you over his knee, his insanely hard cock is tightly pressed between your hip and his stomach. The slightest touch makes him throb and leak, and part of him wonders how _he’s_ going to get through all sixteen spankings.

When you bring your arms behind your back, the same as the last time, Dean takes your wrists in his left hand and uses his right to stroke over the pink skin of your ass and tap the flared base of the black plug keeping you open. He hears you groan in his lap and says, “Your ass is gonna look so fuckin’ pretty when I’m done with it, kitten. I’ll make it _so_ hot and pink for Sammy. You ready for round two, kitten?”

Panting, while you throb and ache, you answer, “ _God_. Yeah. Ready.”

One more time, Dean rubs the palm of his rough hand over your ass, admiring how pink it still is from when he spanked you before. Then, his hand comes down on your left ass cheek.

_SMACK!_

Instantly, you squirm in his lap and gasp, and just as you start to say, “One,” Dean’s hand comes down two, three, and four more times.

Before there’s any more sting, and before you can _even_ think the number ‘five’, Sam’s voice is heard. “Stop.”

Immediately, Dean stills his hand just inches before he doles out number six. He’d planned on doing six spankings, then five, then five more, but apparently Sam’s got other ideas.

Sam’s been sitting at the end of his bed. He watched you drape yourself over Dean’s lap, and your ass, along with the plug keeping you open, are right in front of him. He’s been watching you this whole time, watching to make sure nothing is too much, but he can tell by the sounds you’re making that things are going well. However, Sam’s got an idea.

“Your ass looks _so pretty,_ little girl, all shiny and pink, stretched around that plug. How many was that?” He asks, reaching forward to rub his hand up and down the backs of your thighs, just barely touching hot and pinked underside of your ass.

After whimpering at his touch, you lift your face from the blanket on Sam’s bed, so you can answer breathlessly, “Five, Sam.”

“Very good, little girl.” Very slowly, he traces the line of your dripping folds and easily slides one finger between them. Your face sinks back down into Sam’s bed, moaning uncontrollably at the miniscule touch. “How many times did you edge her before?” Sam asks Dean, even though Sam very clearly remembers; he doesn’t forget much.

A lot like you, as soon as Sam asks him the question, Dean’s mind goes blank, but he forces himself to buck the hell up. “Uh… Only two or three times.”

Because edging you _only two or three times_ is _nothing_ to Sam, he only responds to Dean with a smirk. Still not saying anything, Sam changes his single finger to three, slides them down and circles your swollen clit. You gasp and jerk in Dean’s lap, your hip pushing up against the underside of his solid cock, arced up against his stomach. Dean groans miserably, you sob into the bed, and Sam chuckles.

As Sam continues to rub your clit, your hips keep rocking in Dean’s lap, still rubbing against his dick. When both you and Dean are each about out of your minds, Sam finally speaks, “Don’t come, or it’ll get ruined.”

Knowing his asshole brother left out the usual ‘little girl,’ because he wasn’t _just_ talking to you, Dean growls low in his chest. He opens his mouth to make some snarky comment about how he’s _not_ Sam’s God damned sub – he prefers the term ‘guest star’ – but just as he does, you start begging, “Please, Sam…”

“ _Please, Sam_ , what, little girl?” Sam asks darkly, his fingers still stroking clit. “ _Please, Sam_ , let me come? Or, _please, Sam_ , stop, so I _don’t_ come?”

“Please, Sam,” you wail, _so close_ to coming, feeling the plug stretching your ass and Sam’s fingers on your clit. “S-stop, so I don’t come.”

Immediately, Sam pulls his fingers away. “Very good, little girl,” he praises, using his wet fingers to give his cock a couple of slick pumps. He groans, “Eleven left, birthday girl.”

The second the heat from your denied orgasm fades and replaces itself with an unimaginable ache, you pant and whine, trying to press your thighs tightly together and writhing helplessly in Dean’s lap. Your continued moving and brushing the side of your hip up against the underside of Dean’s ultra-sensitive cock is driving him insane. He’s forced to bring his hand down and give himself a squeeze to quell his need to come, but not even that helps anymore.

He tries shifting you on his lap, so you’re not touching his cock. It helps a little bit, but you’re still making these pretty, little moaning sounds, trying to come down, and that _does not_ help. However, he does know that the quicker he gets these eleven spankings checked off the list, the quicker the fucking ball can get rolling, so he ignores his needy cock and rubs his hand over your ass again.

After you wince and groan at the sensitivity, he says, “Eleven more, kitten. I could make your ass such a _pretty_ red.” Under any other circumstances, he probably would make your ass redder than the cherry pie he had at lunch; his hand doesn’t even burn yet, but he’s sure your ass does, so he won’t. “Kitten, ready to go again?”

With your face buried in the blanket, you nod your head and try to say that you are ready, but the words get stuck in your throat and come out only as a moan. Dean seems to get the message, and you gasp when spanking number six is delivered. In spite of his musings about making your ass red, thankfully, Dean’s hand has much less force than _any_ of his previous spankings. It still burns and stings, but your need for stimulation twists the pain into something that makes your clit throb.

Seven, eight, nine, and ten, come down more as a caress, only making you moan, but then you sob loudly when Dean starts to move the plug in and out of your ass.

“Where’re we at, kitten?” Dean asks in a rough voice, pushing the plug back inside you and tracing his finger down your slick pussy.

“Ten,” you pant, then a pitiful, little noise escapes your mouth when Dean slowly pushes his fingers inside you, just once, and he takes them away. “Please, Dean,” you beg him for more, even though you know he’s not allowed to give you what you want.

“No, little girl,” Sam’s voice comes from behind you. “You said that you like to wait, so you _get to wait_. Be good for Dean and let him give you the rest.”

When you immediately answer, “Yes, Sam,” Dean ignores the need and want in your voice, when he feels his eyes widen. “The _rest_?”

Sam chuckles and points at the clock on his end table. It reads 6:12 PM; twenty-two minutes until your birthday.

Literally having no idea how time has managed to go by so quickly, yet has seemed to drag on _forever_ , Dean feels his cock jump in anticipation. He gently rubs your increasingly pinker ass and tightens his hand that’s wrapped around your wrists. “You heard him, kitten.”

Without another word, Dean’s hand spanks your ass six more times, alternating between the left and right sides, upper and lower cheeks. They’re still not anywhere near as hard as they were before, but they still make you gasp and moan, just barely bumping your pussy into Dean’s knee. When you try to squirm in Dean’s lap to get more pressure, he knows _exactly_ what you’re doing, so he moves his knee out of the way and keeps right on with what he’s doing.

Spank by spank, the noises that come out of you, make both Sam and Dean’s cocks throb. Throwing caution to the wind, Dean pulls you tighter to him, making your hip, once again, press into the underside of his dick, and he groans and pants heavily right along with you.

Usually calm and collected when the three of you, or even just the two of you play, Sam feels his own need growing right along with yours. His cock has been in his hand since he told you to ‘wait,’ gently stroking up and down, thumbing the ridge, and squeezing himself tightly when he nears the edge. He’s watching you writhe, bent over Dean’s lap, with your wrists held tightly behind your back. He sees the black plug stretching you, the wetness leaking from your pussy, and the bright and shiny pink color blooming on your ass, and the sight of it all, combined with the pretty noises coming out of your mouth, are almost too much.

When the sixteenth and _final_ spanking is doled out, there are three sets of heavy breaths mixed with various tones of whining and groaning.

After a handful of minutes pass, which seem to last _hours_ , Dean lets go of your wrists and takes you by the waist, righting you up on his lap. Since it worked so well last time, he spreads his knees, so your tender ass doesn’t touch his thighs. With one hand wrapped around your back, holding you tightly to him, Dean brings his other hand down to the plug and holds it in place, so it doesn’t push out because of the way he’s positioned you.

With you clinging to him, still whining and rocking against nothing, Dean groans at the friction on his cock, trapped between his stomach and yours. Carefully, he twists himself on the bed, so your back is to Sam.

Seeing this, Sam pushes himself up onto his knees and comes up behind you, running his hands all over your back and up and down your sides.

“You did _so good_ , little girl,” Sam praises, pressing kisses into your shoulder blades and into the middle of your back. When he hears you start to babble about how you can’t wait anymore, Sam shushes you and says, “Almost there. Just breathe.”

Dean keeps his one hand holding the plug in your ass and runs his other hand soothingly up and down your thigh. Sam keeps peppering kisses into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, for _both_ of them, and reminding you to breathe.

It takes a little while for your breathing to even out, but when it finally does, still kneeling, Sam lifts you up from Dean’s lap, and four hands are on you, turning you toward Sam. Once you’re pressed into him, feeling his hot and sweaty skin touching yours, your legs naturally wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck.

Mirroring Sam, Dean pushes himself up on his knees too and presses himself into your back, helping Sam hold you up. Taking one of his hands from your waist, Sam gently lifts your face from his shoulder and kisses you. Once his tongue has found yours, he teases it into his mouth, gently caressing it and tasting you. While he does that, Dean starts to carefully ease the plug out of your ass, pushing it back in and pulling it out a little bit more each time, until it’s out completely. You whine into Sam’s kisses, feeling empty, but then you feel the slick head of Dean’s cock, gently pushing inside of you, slowly trying to fill you back up.

Dean is bigger than the plug, so you gasp and moan against Sam’s lips, still kissing you, but also gently telling you to relax.

“Just breathe, kitten,” Dean grits out in a tight voice, grabbing the bottle of lube when there’s resistance and adding more lube to your tight hole and his cock. Carefully, he tries again, biting off a deep groan when the tip slips inside of you, and you clench. Kissing the back of your neck and rubbing the skin under his hand with his fingertips, he whispers, “ _Breathe_ , kitten. I wanna feel how tight you are. Let me in.”

Being pressed between a kneeling Sam and Dean, feeling both of their hot chests tight against your front and back, is almost overwhelming, but you somehow manage to relax enough for Dean to ease a few more inches of his cock into your ass. You want more; you want _it all_ , but being held the way you are, makes it impossible for you to move.

Sam can feel you quivering in his arms, and he knows you’re practically dying to push back into Dean. He knows you can’t, so he slowly eases your hips backward, groaning when both you and Dean gasp at the sudden movement.

“Damn, kitten,” Dean growls when the last inch of him slides inside your ass, and he’s fully inside of you. He can’t _see_ the shade of pink his hand changed your ass to, but he can _feel_ the warmth of it against his groin and the fronts of his thighs. Feeling your velvety heat squeeze him in all the right places, Dean groans, “I think your ass is almost as hot on the outside as you are _in_.” His mouth earns him a loud whine from you and another clench from your ass, and he silently swears if he doesn’t get to move soon, he’s going to go insane.

Holding you up by the outsides of your thighs, Sam twists his hips and slowly pushes a couple inches of his cock inside your dripping pussy. A deep rumble comes from Sam’s chest, when he feels your slick opening flutter around the throbbing head of his cock. You start to whine, pleading and begging for _anything_ , and Sam gives in by sliding the rest of his length inside you.

Dean knows the instant Sam’s completely sheathed by your pussy, not only because you’re practically sobbing and shaking everywhere, but because he feels the _extreme_ -tightness of your ass grow even _tighter_. Unable to control himself anymore, Dean ruts up against you, losing himself in your clenched and slick heat, squeezing his cock so firmly that he can hardly breathe.

Knowing both you and Dean are each about to lose your minds – you’re still begging and pleading, and Dean’s groaning and muttering random ‘ _Fuck’_ s, ‘ _Shit_ ’s, and ‘ _Son of a bitch_ ’s – Sam slowly lifts you up and slides you back down over both of the cocks stretching you so tightly. Feeling all of it, the three of you moan simultaneously.

Resisting the urge to fuck you even more senseless than you already are, Sam asks in a husky and strained voice, “You’ve been _so good_ for us, little girl. We’ve tortured you all day, teased you, spanked your ass, and you _fucking_ _loved it_. Now guess what, little girl? Guess what time it is.”

Even though your mind is screaming, _I need it. I need to come. Don’t come. Be good_ , you babble out, “Please, Sam. I need to come _so bad_. I can’t-I can’t hold it _anymore_. Please…”

Leaning you further back into Dean, Sam twists his hips and thrusts up into you, hard. “It’s your birthday, little girl,” he groans heavily and thrusts again. “Go ahead. Come for _me_ , little girl. You can come for _me_ as many times as you want.”

As soon as he says the words, both Sam and Dean pull you down over them, each pumping up into you, stretching you wide and filling you up, fuller than you’ve ever been before. The sweat coating both Sam and Dean’s chest, spreads onto your skin, adding to the slick friction of their bodies and they move, thrusting in and out of your ass and pussy. It only takes one more time of both Sam and Dean pushing themselves into you, for that heat that’s been wanting to rip through you to _finally_ erupt, changing your constant moan into a gasping wail.

Both Sam and Dean feel your whole body tighten up against and around them. Literally unable to stop himself, Dean instantly comes, his shout almost matching the volume of your wail. Feeling every one of your inner muscles squeeze his cock and milk every drop of come from him, he presses himself as tightly to you as he can, relishing in the little aftershocks that fire off throughout his whole body.

 _Making_ himself last as long as possible, wanting to make you come as many times as he can, Sam still moves you up and down over both him and Dean. Tortured groans fall from Dean’s mouth from over-stimulation, breathless and raspy noises escape from your lips as you mewl and continue to beg Sam for more. Knowing the sounds you’re making, having them _memorized_ , because they turn him on in ways _nothing_ in this world has _ever_ been able to do, Sam knows you’re going to come again. Latching on to that dark purple mark he made on your neck, he can’t help but bite down and fuck up into you even harder, still slamming you down over both he and Dean.

Almost whining from over-sensitivity, Dean is surprised when he feels that familiar flicker of heat in his abdomen. Wanting more, he matches his thrusts in time with Sam’s, feeling the smooth glide of your tight muscles, coated with lube and his come. Making sounds he’ll _never_ admit to having made _ever_ again, Dean manages to growl in your ear, “You feel so fuckin’ good, kitten. _So_ tight. _So_ fuckin’ _good_.” His mouth affixes onto the other side of your neck, desperately kissing your skin and licking the salty taste of sweat away, feeling his second orgasm plow through him. His eyes squeeze shut, his back arches, pushing his hips forward and burying his dick even deeper inside of your ass. “Son of a _bitch,_ ” Dean growls roughly, “You’re _so_ _fuckin’_ _good._ ”

Hearing Dean’s words, _feeling_ him come for the second time, somehow manage make you purr _while_ moaning uncontrollably, and you feel that heat light in your middle again. Sam told you that you could come as many times as you wanted, but it’s still habit to beg for it when you feel yourself at the edge. “Sam,” you frantically sob his name, _needing_ permission to come.

“Go ahead, little girl. Come all over us,” Sam grunts in a tight voice, then steals your mouth. His kisses are sloppy and hard. His teeth click with yours, as his tongue fucks your mouth with the same vigor he uses to fuck your pussy. “Come with me,” he gets out between kisses, unable to force his own orgasm back for a second longer. “ _Please_ ,” Sam actually _begs._ “Fuck! _Please_ , come with me.”

Two sets of hands grip your hips and thighs so tightly that there will probably be twenty more bruises on your body, in addition to the one Sam left on your neck. The pressure, the _heat_ , and the _full_ feeling, make every sensation _burn_ through your whole body. With Dean still inside you, Sam’s hips rock up into you, his skin pressing against your clit at the same time his cock drags along your g-spot, and it all dissolves into a pulsating shatter that makes you scream into Sam’s mouth. At the same time, Sam lets out a choked off shout, followed by a deep and rough groan.

Neither you, nor Sam, nor Dean see it, but the alarm clock on Sam’s end table changes from 7:13 PM to 7:14 PM – _well_ passed your birthday –  just as Dean carefully pulls out of your ass and collapses backward on the bed. Sam sits back on his knees, panting while still holding you tightly in his arms, his cock still twitching inside you, until it softens enough to slip out of you on its own.

It’s 7:38 PM when Sam gently lays you down on his bed, next to Dean, then lays down on the other side of you. He manages to pull the blanket out from under everybody and cover the three of you with it. Dean curls up against your back, burying his face in your hair and soothingly rubbing his hand up and down your hip and thigh. He can still feel the heat from your spank-warmed ass, radiate into the tops of his thighs, so he slowly rolls over and takes the ‘ass cooling lotion shit’ he sometimes uses on his knee, off of Sam’s end table.

You gasp softly at the cool gel Dean rubs into your tender skin, and he gently shushes you, kissing the back of your shoulder and across your back. Sam kisses away your gasp, keeping you close to him. His kisses are soft, just barely brushing against your lips, allowing you to catch your breath.  

8 PM comes and goes, taking you back into that comforting blur with tender kisses and quiet, soothing whispers from Sam and soft touches from Dean. Completely blissed and pleasantly relaxed, you feel yourself drift off to sleep, content against Sam’s chest and warm with Dean at your back.

-

After an unknowable length of time passes, you wake up to a light kiss from Sam, but his taste is laced with something unusually sweet. Instinctively, you lick the sugary-sweetness away from your lips, stretch a little to wake yourself up, then you recognize the taste. “My birthday cupcakes.”

Both Sam and Dean chuckle, but Sam asks around another kiss, “How did you know?”

When your eyes flicker open, you look up at Sam and smile sleepily. “Dean told me.”

Sam rolls his eyes playfully and looks over at Dean, who is dressed in a tee-shirt and his boxer-briefs, sitting up against the headboard, and eating a cupcake. “You weren’t supposed to say anything,” Sam tells his brother. “It was _supposed_ to be a surprise.”

Dean snickers around his bite of cupcake. “Thanks for rattin’ me out.” He pokes you in the back of your shoulder with his finger, but then gives the same place a gentle rub with his hand.

Wanting a cupcake of your very own, you sit up on the bed, holding Sam's blanket over your chest and hissing quietly at the pressure on your tender ass. Also dressed in a tee-shirt and boxers, Sam checks to make sure you're okay. After you tell him that you are, he takes a second to gently drag his fingertips over the mark he left on your neck. Once the bruise is admired to Sam's satisfaction, he slips one of his blue v-neck shirts over your head and helps you get your arms through the arm holes.

After you pull it down your waist and carefully tuck the extra material under your sore butt, you ask, “Do _I_ get a cupcake?”

Sam smirks. “Presents first. _Then_ cupcakes.”

Giving Sam a sultry, little grin, you ask, “I thought already _got_ my presents.”

Dean chuckles behind you, and Sam returns your grin with a version of the sexiest dimpled-smile in his arsenal. “We’ve got a couple more for you. Cupcakes _after_ presents.”

“But _Dean_ got a cupcake,” you playfully whine and give Sam a little pout.

Giving your pouty bottom lip a kiss, Sam continues to grin at you. “Presents, _first_.”

“Fiiiine,” you sigh with mock-exasperation, but then perk up and hold out your hands. “Gimme!”

“Mine, first!” Dean proclaims with more enthusiasm than you anticipated. Setting aside his half-eaten cupcake, he reaches down under Sam’s bed and pulls out a Sunday comics-wrapped box. He’s got a huge grin on his face when he hands it to you. As you tear open the paper, he adds, “Saw you eyein’ it a while ago. Thought you’d like it.”

You open the box, and Dean was right; you saw the present in a store a while ago. You never bought it for yourself, but you’ve been wanting it for months. “Thanks, Dean,” you gush with a beaming smile, surprised he noticed you admiring the item when you saw it in the store. “I love it.”

Dean grins, happy you like his present and leans forward to give you a kiss on the side of your head. “Happy birthday. You open your present from Sammy, and I’m gonna go grab us some beers. _Don’t_ eat my cupcake.”

Both you and Sam shake your head and laugh at Dean and watch him leave Sam’s room, then Sam hands you his present. Unlike Dean, Sam doesn’t have a huge grin on his face. Sam obviously happy, but it’s also obvious he’s _very_ eager for you to open his gift.

Once you get the paper open and look inside the small box, you understand _exactly_ why he was so eager. It’s a simple silver ring, undoubtedly the metal chosen because of several supernatural creatures vulnerability to it. The front of the band is wide, smooth, and slightly sloped in the middle, but raised on the top and bottom edges. It’s beautiful. You’re speechless.

“You like it?” Sam asks, wholeheartedly hoping that you do.

“Of course I do,” you answer with a small laugh. “It’s gorgeous.”

Now, Sam’s got that huge grin on his face. He takes the ring out of the box and spins it around so you can see the engraving on the inside of the band. It says one word:

_Mine_

Taking your right hand in his, Sam kisses the tips of your fingers, then slips the silver band onto your pointer finger. It fits perfectly.

Sam specifically chose to have the ring sized for the pointer finger of your right hand for two reasons – one he hopes the ring will _never_ be used for: if you ever have to throw a punch at a shapeshifter, zombie, skinwalker, werewolf, lamia, pishtaco, or wraith, your punch will have a little extra _something_ behind it. The second reason for Sam buying the ring for you is that he really just liked it, and he hoped you would too.

Once the ring is in place, Sam pulls you into his lap – moving you gently and slowly because he _knows_ your ass is sore. Once you’re comfortable, he brings his hands to your face and kisses you. His thumbs gently caress your check bones, the line of your jaw, and softly touch where your lips meet his.

Kissing you once more, Sam pulls away from your lips, leaving you breathless, and reaches for your cupcake. He brings it up to your lips for you to take a bite. You do, and Sam kisses the smudge of frosting away from your lips. Silently, he offers you more, but you just shake your head, staring at the ring wrapped around your finger.

Sam pulls you even closer to him and wraps his arms around you, nuzzling your hair. “Did you have a good birthday?”

You snicker at his question, remembering – and _feeling_ – exactly how _good_ your birthday really was. You tuck your face under his jaw and sigh contentedly, no longer feeling the need to groan about your further advancement into ‘thirty-something status.’ “It was perfect. Turning thirty-two isn’t _so_ bad.”


End file.
